


Fade Into You

by Last_Chance_Anna



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A lot of kissing, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Because I will never write a story where Tony DOESN'T call Steve 'Baby', Bisexual Tony Stark, Break Up, Consensual Underage Sex, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gay Steve Rogers, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Maybe too much kissing, Poor Life Choices, Post-Slash, Pre-Slash, Sarah Rogers's actual good parenting, Sexual Content, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony calls Steve 'Baby', Ugh, Underage Kissing, all the relationship-y shit, and the ugly - Freeform, the bad, the good - Freeform, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 128,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: Just an AU story about all the years and phases throughout Steve and Tony's relationship, beginning at the beginning. Will probably end at the end ;)I will update the tags as needed.Still suck at summaries.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 184
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Back again. I know it has only been a few days since the end of my last story, but I started thinking the other day about something, and i couldn't get it out of my head. It evolved into this story throughout the course of my work-day. That's the good thing about working at a job where my body pretty much knows what it's doing, and my head can wander a little bit. It's also the bad thing about it. Sometimes my mind wanders too far down roads it should avoid. I'm not sure about this one. I have it pretty well plotted through except the very end. We'll see how that goes when we get there.  
> Thanks so much for reading!  
> I love all of you lovely people!!

SEVENTEEN-- 

He never thought he’d see him again.

He thought, six years ago, as he watched that long black car pull away from the curb and out into the street with Tony inside, that he was gone from his life forever.

He’d cried a little then. He wasn’t a baby--he was almost twelve now!--and he knew it was stupid and he shouldn’t cry over someone he had really only known for a year, but he couldn’t help it. For that year, that long, glorious, whirlwind year, Tony Stark had been the best thing he had. The brightest spot in an otherwise dark existence where his father was dead, his mother worked too much, and Steve himself had no other friends, and no desire to try and make friends. An existence where he was angry all the time. Hurting all the time. Confused all the time. An existence where he felt something inside himself crying out for someone, something-- _anything_ \--to come in and help brighten the dark places.

For a long time, it felt like no one was even listening, and never would. That he would just stand on the precipice of that void forever until he could not cry out any longer. Until his voice grew weak. His body got tired. Sometimes, even though he was little more than a child, he could feel himself starting to stumble toward the edge that was there, and whatever lay beyond it...well, he just hoped it would be a quiet place.

But then Tony was there.

He showed up in school one day, small, dark hair, dark eyes, teeth white and perfect inside his smile. When he _did_ smile. Which, thinking back now, Steve realized, as he watched Tony slide out of his car and straighten his jacket--leather, with a Pearl Jam t-shirt underneath it--really hadn’t been that often. At least, at first. At least until he came and sat beside Steve at lunch one day and said, “Hey. Whatcha drawing? You’re always drawing. I want to see,” and drug Steve’s notebook toward himself and spent the rest of lunch hour exclaiming over all of Steve’s silly drawings of dancing monkeys and superheroes.

They were inseparable after that. One unit. Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. Between the hours of eight and four, Monday through Friday, they were constantly together, and Steve loved every single minute of it.

Steve watched him now as he walked across the parking lot. He moved with an easy, unconscious grace that was a long way from the awkward pre-teen kid he’d been when Steve had known him before. In fact, if Steve had not been so positive of who he was looking at, he might have thought this was someone else, some other Stark son who had descended from on high to mingle with the commoners for a few hours before climbing back into his car and disappearing into the clouds once more.

But Steve _did_ know. For sure. He’d thought of that face, that smile, that olive skin, those dark, dark eyes at least once a week--once a day--for the last six years.

Of course, he hadn’t thought of the way Tony looked _now_. The Tony he thought of was short and wiry, skinny, with an air of mischief in his eyes.

 _This_ Tony, though…

This Tony had grown up into a young god. He was still slim-hipped, but his chest and arms had filled out, and his clothing, luxe and so artfully casual, hung on his body perfectly. Steve couldn’t see his eyes--they were covered by expensive sunglasses--but he still gave off an aura of mischief. Even from this far away, Steve could see it. And he knew it. Recognized it from before.

Steve glanced down at himself. He had grown up too since they’d last seen each other. Of course, he had. Six years was a long time. He’d put on height and some muscle, but for some reason, he didn’t _feel_ as grown-up as Tony looked. Most of the time, he still felt like that angry, confused kid he’d been before Tony came along. He felt that way now, especially given the admiring looks that everyone was shooting Tony’s way, and he felt his heart sink a little. Because six years _was_ a long time. Because Tony had done nothing but get better, and Steve had stayed the same. _Taller_ , maybe, but basically the same.

 _He probably doesn’t even remember me_ , he thought, and slumped a little, making himself smaller, making himself as invisible as he could.

And Tony didn’t even look his way.

That was probably for the best.

\---

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Yeah. You are. You’re staring.”

He scowled, but Sam was right. He _was_ staring. He couldn’t help it. He stared a lot. Whenever Tony was in the room, he couldn’t help but stare. 

It had been a month since Tony came back to school. They were sitting in the cafeteria. Steve and Sam were on one side of the room, Tony and his entourage were on the other. It hadn’t taken long for Tony to gather up a large crowd of devoted friends. Steve knew it wouldn’t. They took up two tables. They were loud, exuberant, beautiful, filled with the giddy hilarity of youth. They laughed a lot. Threw things at each other. Clint and Natasha spent the entire lunch hour in a passionate lip-lock that no one could seem to break up, and after a few tries, they gave up and let them be.

Tony sat in the middle of them all, holding court like a king. He was their center. The hub of all the activity around him. The funniest, the wildest, the most beautiful of the beautiful people, and Steve wasn’t the only person in the room who stared whenever he was around. He wasn’t the only person staring now. Glancing around the room, at least a dozen others were staring at Tony. Steve could see the same look that was currently on his own face on their faces too, so he felt safe staring a little. If Tony felt eyes on him, Steve had only a one in thirteen chance of Tony catching him, so yeah, he felt safe. After all, who was he now? Just some guy. Steve had been right. Tony hadn’t recognized him. Hadn’t remembered him. In spite of their close friendship before, now he was just some guy in a sea of people busy eating and talking and bitching about homework assignments and football games. 

Just some guy.

Some guy who couldn’t seem to stop looking at another guy.

And then, suddenly, and for the first time, Tony was looking back.

Across the room, just like in an old movie, their eyes met. Tony’s dark whiskey brown, Steve’s cool ocean blue. And then there was no sound in his ears. No breath in his lungs. Suddenly there was no one else in the world except Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. Everything else fell away, especially when the corner of Tony’s bow-shaped lips lifted in a tiny half-smile. When that happened, Steve didn’t feel like just some guy. When that happened, he felt…

He felt like running.

Steve jumped to his feet and grabbed his lunch tray. “I gotta go,” he mumbled.

“What? Why?”

“I just-” his eyes flicked to Tony again. Tony’s were still on him. His mouth was still doing that little thing, that little smile, but now it seemed more amused, like he was enjoying this show immensely. A hot blush crept out of Steve’s collar. “I just gotta go. See you later,” he said, and then he was running-- _don’t_ run _, asshole!--_ out the door, dumping his tray on the way, and bursting out into the sun-drenched early afternoon, kicking and cursing himself the entire way. For being stupid. For being silly. For letting Tony get to him. For letting _anyone_ get to him. God, what was _wrong_ with him? 

Steve didn’t know. Didn’t care. He _didn’t_. It wasn’t like Tony cared anything about him. Why would he? He was just some guy. 

Just some guy staring at the sun.

\---

Sam caught up with him after school at his locker. Steve had spent the last three hours drifting from class to class, not taking notes, not listening, not paying attention. That was new for him. He liked school. He liked learning. He liked listening to his teachers. But he didn’t do any of that today. Today he just sat slumped in his seat, doodling in the margin of his notebook, thinking about old times. Old times that he hadn’t thought about in a while. Old times that nobody _else_ thought about anymore either, he was sure.

_Do you wanna try?_

_Do you?_

_Don’t know. Maybe._

_Now? Here?_

_Maybe._

“Steve.”

 _Do_ you _?_

_… Okay._

“Steve!”

Steve looked up, startled. Sam was standing there, looking at him with a curious, worried eye. Steve shook himself. He shoved his books into his locker and slammed it closed. “What?” He knew he sounded pissed off. He didn’t mean to. Sam was a good friend--his best friend. _Now_ he was his best friend--and Steve didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to hurt him. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, Sam. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sam said. “Ever since Stark came back to school here you’ve had a lot on your mind.”

Steve shook his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Stark.”

He turned on his heel and started down toward the parking lot. He didn’t have a car, but the bus stop was only a few blocks away. He didn’t mind riding the bus. It was okay. Even though they were loud and cramped and usually smelled like piss and unwashed socks, he didn’t mind. It gave him time to think on his way home. Time to put the day away before he got home to his mother. She needed him. Ever since his dad died, his mother had needed him. He didn’t mind that, either. He knew he was different from most of the people in his class. Knew that his priorities were different, but that was okay. He’d always been a little different. Never quite fit in. With anybody. He was too poor for the rich kids, not smart enough for the smart kids, not aggressive enough for the athletes, and not high enough for the “cool” kids. The only person he’d ever fit in with was Tony. And it was pretty obvious where that left him now.

He knew his mother worried about him, worried that he didn’t have enough friends, but he told her he was fine, and she believed him. Or at least she pretended she believed him. And that was almost the same thing anyway.

He did have Sam though now.

Even though, at the moment, Steve almost wished he didn’t.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to Steve on the sidewalk. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“‘Nothing’ my ass. Come on, Steve. What’s going on with you?”

Steve looked around the parking lot. His eyes went directly to Tony’s car. Steve didn’t know much about cars, but he knew it was fancy and expensive. It had probably cost Mr. Stark more than Steve’s parents had paid for their apartment. It was red, with little gold flecks in the paint that caught the sun and made it shimmer. STARK4. That’s what the license plate said. Steve assumed that meant there were three other ones out there somewhere. He wondered if there was a STARK5 out there too. There probably was.

“Really,” he said, pitching his voice low, and smiling. He hoped it was reassuring. It didn’t feel like it. It felt like a Halloween mask covering his face, but he hoped it looked better than it felt. “I’m okay. I’ve just got to study. And then I’ve got work this weekend. I’m fine. I just really do have a lot on my mind.”

“Why do you do that?” Sam asked. 

“What?”

“Lie. You suck at lying.”

Steve sighed and scuffed his toe on the ground. He didn’t say anything. They both knew there was nothing to say.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him? Weren’t you guys friends?”

Steve laughed, cynically. “Yeah. In fifth grade,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, fifth grade was a long time ago. And besides,” he went on, glancing over his shoulder at the double doors of the school, “it’s not like there’s anything to talk about. He doesn't remember me.” He shrugged his shoulders in a way that was trying very hard to be casual and succeeding not at all. “I barely remember _him_.”

Sam shook his head and rubbed his temples with one hand. Steve knew what that meant. His mother did that too sometimes when he said something she knew was not just a lie, but absolutely ridiculous. It was like a non-verbal bullshit indicator. Between her and Sam, it was a wonder he tried to lie at all. He really was bad at it.

Steve shook his own head, and his smile became more genuine. “Fuck you,” he muttered, and Sam laughed, the slight break between them fixed just like that. That was one of the things he liked about being around Sam. It wasn’t complicated. They were just friends. Nothing more. No weird fluttery feelings in his gut when he looked at Sam. No worrisome wonderings about what Sam’s hair would feel like under his palm. No memories of Sam’s breath on his cheek, his hand touching Sam’s hand in that shady spot under the trees back behind the school…

“Come on,” Steve said abruptly, twitching at Sam’s shirt-sleeve. “We’re gonna miss the bus.”

Sam fell into step beside him, and they crossed the parking lot together. Behind them, came the sound of the front doors slamming open, and the shrill cries of kids boiling out onto the lawn. He heard them giggling, cat-calling, laughing at themselves and the day itself.

Sam glanced back, then looked up at Steve’s stoic face. “You know,” he said lightly, “he looks at you too, sometimes.” Steve’s jaw clenched. “When you’re not looking.”

“Sam. Drop it.”

He clapped him on the back. “Just saying. He remembers you.”

Steve kept walking. He didn’t look at Sam. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He didn’t want to. Even when the sound of Tony’s car growling into life reached his ears. Even when it howled like a jungle cat as he punched the gas. Steve just kept walking. He didn’t look up. Didn’t look after it, even when it sped directly past them, made an illegal U-turn in the street, and passed them again in a showy flash of red and a squeal of tires. He just kept his head down and kept walking.

He didn’t see Sam shake his head again, but he _could_ almost hear his thoughts: _Pull your head out of your ass, man._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short.  
> Sorry I haven't updated for a minute. Work thinks it has to get in the way sometimes. What are you gonna do?

“So am I just not good enough for you now? Is that it?”

Steve looked up from where he was kneeling. He had a can of tomatoes in his hand that he had just been getting ready to put on the shelf when he felt someone standing over him, and then Tony Stark’s voice, angry and loud. And  _ sudden _ . Coming at him from out of nowhere, with no warning, no preparation, nothing.

Steve glanced dumbly down at the can, as if preparing himself, then up at Tony’s face.

“Umm,” he said, and that was all. That was all he had.

He had woken up this morning with no other thought than just coming to work and making it through so he could get home and study. He wasn’t a bad student--he tried hard, anyway--but the history was kicking his ass this year. There were just so many names and dates to remember. The Battle of This, Colonel That. It was hard to keep it all straight. 

And then there was this. This Tony-situation. This wasn’t helping.

He’d sit down and start reading, and then suddenly, as if by some magic, all he was thinking about was Tony’s eyes, and everything else was just gone. And that was weird. He knew he was different. He knew he thought about guys more than girls, and he was okay with that, but this was different. This. This sitting at his tiny desk in his tiny bedroom, thinking about Tony, and his eyes, and his mouth, and the way his shirt rode up a little sometimes when he stretched, exposing a sliver of tanned skin, and Steve wondered what  _ that _ would feel like under his fingers. Smooth like silk? Not that he’d ever touched silk. And then he’d laugh a little, because that was silly. He had about as much chance of running his fingers across a swatch of silk as he did of running his fingers over that bare patch of skin that so captivated him.

But he still thought about it. Even if it was silly. And he thought about those bad eyes. Those bad, dark, beautiful eyes. And he remembered how wide they’d been once. That one time behind the school. Sitting in that shady spot on a cut-down stump, their shoulders brushing, Tony’s hand on top of his hand, Tony’s eyes wide, and dark, and solemn.

_ Do you want to try? _

_ Do  _ you?

And now here they were in person. Those eyes glaring down at him while he knelt on the floor in his goddam red apron, holding a can of tomatoes-- _ tomatoes _ , for fuck’s sake--and they looked even more beautiful flashing angrily at him than he’d probably ever seen. Even on that day in fifth grade.

Tony raised his eyebrows, huffing out an agitated breath. “So, nothing?” he said. Almost spat. “Still? I get nothing?”

“I…”

“You know what?” Tony said, throwing up his hands. “Forget it. Just forget it. I know I’m not as perfect as your boy Wilson, but I thought you’d at least say hi to me. Guess I was wrong.”

He spun on his heel and stomped down the aisle.

Steve watched him go.

Ninety seconds. Ninety goddamn seconds. That seemed to be all it took for his entire world to come crashing down. Ninety seconds ago, he’d been stocking shelves. Ninety seconds ago, all he’d been thinking about was history. The country’s history. Not  _ his _ history. Not his own, personal history that included the guy who had just yelled at him then stalked down the aisle away from him, taking his history  _ and _ his present with him. Because there wasn’t anything else on his mind right now. Nothing but Tony Stark’s dark eyes and the line of his back as he walked down the aisle and slammed out of the door, making it shake, making Steve’s boss stare after him with an irritated look on his face. Ninety fucking seconds.

Steve looked down at those tomatoes in his hand. The can looked back. It seemed like it was laughing at him. Taunting him.

He threw it on the shelf and shot to his feet. “Tony!”

Steve ran down the short aisle, ignoring his boss’s shout of “Rogers!” as he hit the door straight-armed and spilled out onto the sidewalk. 

He looked right, and saw nothing but random, unimportant people, then looked frantically to his left, his eyes raking the crowd for Tony’s familiar shape.

“Damnit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. And then he saw him, just stepping off the curb. He had his keys in his hand, and he stabbed one into the lock on his car door.

Steve put on a burst of speed and caught him just as he was getting ready to slip inside. “Tony,” he said again, and grasped his arm. “Wait. Don’t go.”

Tony glanced down at the hand on his arm. He was pissed off, Steve could see that. And hurt. Steve could see that too. He kicked himself internally-- _ hard _ \--for putting that look there. There on the face of the guy who had once been his only friend.

Steve stepped closer. Tony left his hand where it was, but his jaw clenched, fire flashing behind his eyes. “Tony,” Steve began, “you’re right. I should have said something. I-”

“You’re fucking-A, you should have.”

Steve nodded. He was aware they were standing almost in the street and cars and people were whizzing past them, but it didn’t seem very important, even when a couple of them honked their horns as they passed. He was on the outside. If either of them got run over, it would be him. Tony would be safe. He thought he could live with that--or die with it--as long as Tony forgave him first.

“You’re right,” he said again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Okay?”

Tony eased a little, and rolled his eyes up and to the left, staring at a spot over Steve’s shoulder. Steve could see his jaw still working. He frowned. “Tony?"

Tony’s eyes snapped to his face, but they weren’t as angry, Steve was sure of it. “Shut up,” Tony said, and his voice was more of a pout than a command. Steve wanted to smile at that, but he didn’t. “I’m trying to decide if I’m still mad at you.”

Now Steve did smile. Just a little. “Okay, Tony.”

He started to let go of Tony’s arm, but his eyes grew hard again. “I didn’t say to move your hand.”

Steve grinned. He couldn’t help it. "'Kay,” he said, and readjusted his grip, holding Tony firmly, his fingers against the sun-warm leather of his jacket just beneath the bend of his elbow.

Tony was silent, his mouth petulant and soft, and Steve just watched him, just let his eyes move over his face. He hadn’t been this close to him in years. Hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the changes in his face. Or the similarities. Because there were things that hadn’t changed. The dark, hooded eyes, the smooth texture of his skin, the length of the lashes. Those things were the same. As much as Tony had changed--had grown into a man--Steve could still see the boy he’d known too, and it eased him somehow. Just as it had always been when he was near Tony, something inside him just felt easier. More settled. Better.

Finally, Tony sighed. “Okay,” he said, sounding reluctant but resigned. It was an act. Steve knew it was, and he smiled even more. “I’m not mad at you anymore. I guess.”

“You sure?”

Tony narrowed his eyes a bit. “Well. Maybe you should offer to buy me a Coke or something after work. Just to make sure.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. He stepped a little closer. His hand was still on Tony’s arm. He didn’t want to let go. “Do you want to go get a Coke later?”

“What time do you get off?”

“Three.”

Tony looked at his watch and groaned. “That’s still an hour.”

Steve looked at him from under his lashes. “Sorry.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll wait.” He tapped one finger against Steve’s chest. “But don’t be late.”

Steve shook his head. “No. I won’t. I promise.”

“‘Kay.”

Steve glanced at the door to the market. He was probably in trouble, but he didn’t care much right now. All he cared about was that Tony would be waiting for him when he got off. “One hour, okay?”

“One hour.”

“I’ll be fast.”

“You’d better be.”

Instead of just letting go of Tony’s arm, Steve’s hand slipped down it from his forearm, to his wrist, to his fingers before falling away. He didn’t do it consciously. It just happened that way. He was sure of it. 

He was sure of something else too. It had only taken ninety seconds to win Tony back to his side. Ninety seconds to lose him, and then ninety seconds to get him back. That was a pretty good feeling. The best feeling. A standing-on-top-of-the-world feeling. That was the kind of feeling he’d always had when they had known each other before. Like he was special. Like  _ they _ were special. Like, when they were together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t take on. That kind of special. He knew he was putting the cart ahead of the horse here, considering it had only been the ninety seconds, but that feeling was back. Or, at least, it was  _ coming _ back.

He thought about that while his boss yelled at him when he got back inside. That and one other thing: the brief clasp of Tony’s fingers on his. And there were certainly worse things to think about than that. Even if it hadn't been on purpose.

\---

His boss made him stay an extra ten minutes to make up for the time he had spent outside with Tony. It was ridiculous, and they both knew it, but Steve did it. As much as he wanted to bolt out the door the second the clock struck three, he needed this job, so he stayed. He was pretty sure Tony wouldn’t bail on him, even though he’d promised he wouldn’t be late, and he was right.

Tony stood leaning against his car when Steve finally emerged from the market. He did, however, raise his hand and tap the face of his watch meaningfully.

“Three- _ ten _ ,” he said loudly.

Steve hung his head, contrite and a bit dramatically. “Sorry.”

Tony grunted, but nodded toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”

Steve tried the door, but it was locked. He waited while Tony slid into the driver’s seat, then watched through the window while Tony stretched across the seat to unlock the door that, for at least this one, glorious, exciting time, would be  _ his _ door. When it was unlocked, Steve gripped the handle and opened it and climbed inside. He’d never ridden in a car like this before. It was low to the ground, fancy,  _ fast.  _ It smelled like leather and the spicy scent of Tony’s cologne. And even though he hadn’t been close to Tony since he’d come back, it still felt familiar. Familiar and intoxicating.

Tony keyed the engine to life. It was quieter on the inside than when he heard it from the outside, but it was still loud. Loud and good. “So,” Tony said, raising his voice a bit. “Where to?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. Wherever you want.”

“This is  _ your _ town, Steve. You tell me.”

Steve smiled a little. He was starting to feel nervous, sitting here in this car with Tony beside him. Outside, holding his arm, it had felt really good being close to him again, but now, he felt a slight pressure, a return of what he’d felt when he saw Tony step out of this car the first time. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if Tony had surpassed him in every way, shape, and form? What if Tony thought he wasn’t really worth his time now, after all? They weren’t eleven years old anymore. Tony wasn’t a small, slight kid with a perpetually worried look on his face anymore. And Steve...well. He hadn’t changed as much as he would have liked. He hadn’t grown the way Tony had grown. He hadn’t  _ progressed _ . He was still the same kid, just in a bigger body. “Um. I really don’t know. I don’t go out much.”

Tony looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, almost making him blush, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll choose. But you’re still paying.”

“I owe you,” Steve agreed, nodding.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re only doing it ‘cause you owe me, then get the fuck out right now,” he said.

Steve laughed a little and ducked his head. His hand, seemingly on its own, reached out and locked his door. “Nah,” he said. “That’s not the only reason.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answered. 

“What’s the other reason?”

Steve smiled, and  _ now _ he blushed. Now he felt not only nervous, but painfully shy sitting here in this metal cocoon, and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. He almost wished he’d taken the chance and jumped out of the car when Tony gave him an out--even if it had only been a joke when Tony said it.

He ran a hand through his hair, and he couldn’t help watching the way Tony’s eyes followed his hand. “I don’t really know.”

Tony looked at him again, that thoughtful, meditative look back on his face. “Okay,” he said, then cocked his brow at him again. “Think about it, though. ‘Cause I’m going to want an answer at some point.”

And the thing was, Steve wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.

Tony watched him for a moment, watching the emotions that passed over his face like storm clouds, then he looked away and pressed the gas pedal, working the gear shift with his right hand, his left cocked over the steering wheel with perfect, unconscious grace. Steve watched  _ him  _ then, watched the way he maneuvered the car with his hands, the way he took control over it so easily. He watched it and he admired it. Steve didn’t even have his license. He hadn’t needed it. He lived in a city with the greatest public-transportation system in the country, what the hell did he need a driver’s license for? But watching Tony drive with such authority kind of made him wish he had it. Or, at least, made him wish he could always sit here in this car with Tony letting  _ him _ drive. That would be nice, too. In spite of the nervousness and the prospect of maybe having to explain his turmoil to Tony, it would be very nice.

They were quiet as Tony drove, and soon, he pulled down a side-street and into the parking lot of a cafe. It was a small place, seemed quiet and calm. Steve was glad. He’d been afraid Tony would take them to some trendy place with loud music and a bunch of kids from school, but  _ that _ wasn’t  _ this _ . 

“This okay?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrow in a way that, if Steve didn’t know better, could have seemed less-than-confident.

Steve nodded, relieved. “Yeah, Tony. It’s great."

“You sure?” Steve smiled and nodded again, and Tony’s face lost that slightly unsure look. “Good. Come on.”

They went inside, and Steve let Tony lead them to a booth by the window. There wasn’t really that much to see, looking out of it, but the light that came in was nice, shining through the window and hitting the side of Tony’s face just right. It lit his cheekbones and made his hair shine, and Steve found it difficult to pull his eyes away. 

He did pull them away, though. Because he didn’t want Tony to think he was staring again. Even if he had been. 

They ordered two Cokes when the server came to their table, then sat with their hands on the tabletop, Steve on one side of the table, Tony on the other. Steve really did try to keep his eyes down, away from Tony’s face. And, he found, once they were down, looking at the flecks of stylized quartz in the table, it wasn’t so bad. He didn’t feel quite so shy sitting here with him. He didn’t feel quite so awkward. 

And then Tony had to ruin it.

He latched onto Steve’s wrist with one hand and shook it. “Hey,” he snapped, and Steve couldn’t help but look up. Look up into those eyes he thought about way too often.

“Yeah?” he asked warily. 

“You’re doing it again,” Tony said.

“Doing what?”

“Ignoring me.”

The thought made Steve smile. In his mind, he was so far from ignoring Tony that it was almost embarrassing, but he supposed, to Tony, it might seem like he was. 

“Sorry,” he said, then ran his hand through his hair and sipped his drink, all the while feeling Tony’s eyes on him. That felt different. Good, but different. He wondered if Sam had been telling him the truth the other day when he’d said Tony looked at him too. Sitting here with those eyes on him now, he wondered if it might be. “I’m not really ignoring you, Tony,” he said. “I promise I’m not.”

“No? What do you call it?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m not.”

Tony looked at him over the table, then leaned abruptly forward, his arms crossed. “Why  _ didn’t  _ you say anything?” he asked. “When you saw me that first day?” He gestured with an irritated twirl of his hand. “Or  _ any _ of the days? It’s been like six weeks, Steve. Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Steve sighed. His mind flipped through answers to that question, looking at them, considering them, then tossing them back on the heap. He didn't want to come right out and say  _ Because I’m afraid you’re better than me _ , even though when it got right down to it, that was the reason. He didn’t want to say it. Not only because it made him sound pathetic, but because it also sounded insulting to Tony. As if Steve thought Tony couldn’t look past Steve’s obvious awkwardness and see who he was on the inside. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was more that he was afraid that was precisely what Tony would do. He’d look inside Steve, see who and what he was, and  _ then _ decide he wasn’t good enough. Steve almost wished it was superficial. Steve almost wished Tony was a skin-deep kind of guy. 

But he wasn’t.

And that terrified Steve.

“Steve?”

He raised his shoulders and then let them drop tiredly. He couldn’t quite meet Tony’s eye. His own hovered somewhere around his mouth, and that wasn’t helping matters either. “I don’t know. I just...didn’t.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. You’re a shitty liar.”

Steve laughed, and finally looked up at Tony. He looked sharply back. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just Sam says the same thing all the time.”

Tony leaned back in his seat. “Mmm,” he uttered, and toyed with the straw in his glass. “ _ Sam _ says it too, huh? Must be true, then.”

Steve frowned a little. It was funny, the way Tony said Sam’s name. With a sardonic twist to it that was almost...bitter? Maybe. It wasn’t jealousy. Steve was sure of that. It couldn’t be. Tony wouldn’t be jealous of Sam.

“Is he going to be mad?” Tony asked, still playing with his straw, lifting it out of the glass, then dropping it and watching it sink back into the dark, icy depths.

“Mad?” Steve asked, confused. “About what?”

Tony shrugged, then flicked his finger between them carelessly. “About this.”

“What?”

Tony huffed. “ _ This _ , Steve. You and me. Out together like this.” He picked his straw up again, flicked his eyes in Steve’s direction again, then let the straw drop. “‘Cause  _ I’d  _ be pretty mad. You know. If it was me.”

Steve shook his head. It felt fuzzy, like he couldn’t quite wrap it around what was happening here. Mad? What? “Tony,” he began uncertainly, “Sam’s my best friend, but he’s not going to get mad just because you and I are...hanging out together.” He shrugged. “He’s not like that. He’s a really nice guy. You’d like him.”

Tony eyed him. It was a careful look--almost guarded--and Steve found himself wondering again if Sam had been right when he said Tony had looked at him before. And if he was, what that might possibly mean.

“Best friend?” Tony asked, his gaze not changing.

“Yeah. He’s nice. Really. You guys would really get along.”

“So, he’s not like…?” he trailed off and raised his eyebrows.

“Like what?” Steve asked. Tony sighed and lowered his head into his hand and rubbed his temples. Steve frowned, wondering if Tony had a built-in bullshit detector too. That would be just his luck. “Tony?”

Tony sighed again, but this time a little smile appeared on his mouth. It was almost like the one Steve had seen when Tony had first looked at him in the cafeteria. “Like your boyfriend, Steve,” he said plainly. “I’m asking you if Sam is your boyfriend."

Steve snorted laughter. It was sudden, and for some reason, it felt really good. “Oh,” he said, grinning a little, a blush he couldn’t control creeping up out of the collar of his shirt. “No. No, he’s not my boyfriend. Just-just my friend.”

“And you’re laughing because it’s funny I would think  _ he _ was your boyfriend, or because I would think you’d have a boyfriend at all?”

Steve stopped laughing.

He stopped laughing, but he couldn’t keep a little smile off his face, or the continuing blush. That deepened, heating his cheeks and painting them pink. “Um,” he said, and bit his lip. Tony watched him, that guarded look still in his eyes. Steve looked back. He ducked his head a little, but he kept his eyes on Tony’s. “It’s, um...it’s not funny. I mean, the Sam-part is, ‘cause he really is just my friend, but the...other part…” he shook his head. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh,” Tony said and smiled, and suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, the whole room--the whole  _ city _ \--seemed so much brighter, so much easier, so much better. “Okay, then.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Okay.” Tony dipped his head and took the straw in his drink between his lips. He chewed on it a bit, then sucked it lightly. Steve watched. His cheeks felt alarmingly red, alarmingly  _ hot _ . And when Tony looked up, catching him staring, this time, Steve didn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one last thing...  
> A special soul was taken from us a couple days ago. I obviously didn't know him other than through his work, but I feel like a member of our family was lost, and a piece of our collective heart went with him. Thank you for giving us a hero and a man we could look up to, Chadwick Boseman. You will be forever loved and missed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one.   
> I put a tag for underage. Do I tag this for underage? It's not a pervy underage, but I guess technically, it's underage, so a'tagging I shall go.

ELEVEN-- 

Tony looked sad all day.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He barely spoke. That was the worst of it all. Because Tony always talked. Always. It was his _thing_ . The talking. And him not doing it was hurting Steve in a weird way he didn’t quite get. All he knew was that Tony wasn’t talking. And he looked sad. Really sad. And that hurt Steve too. He didn’t want Tony to look sad. He didn’t want him to _be_ sad. He wanted him happy. He wanted him talking and happy and smiling and laughing. He didn’t like this other way. He still liked _Tony_ , but he _didn’t_ like whatever it was that made Tony look sad.

Steve tried to cheer him up.

He let him have the good seat next to the window in home-room because he heard there was a dog running around out in the parking lot and he hoped that Tony would see it.

He gave him a piece of gum he won by answering a question right in Dr. Banner’s science class.

He drew him a picture at lunch of a red car that would go really, really fast because Tony liked cars that went fast and red was his favorite color.

But none of those things worked. 

The dog never did show up. The gum got taken away by the hall monitor as soon as she saw it in Tony’s mouth--he barely even got to taste it. The picture at least _kind of_ worked. When Steve slid it across the table to him at the end of lunch hour, Tony smiled and told him he liked it. He folded it up carefully and tucked it away in his backpack. The smile went with it, though. Tony looked sad again as soon as it was out of sight, and that made Steve sad again.

“Are you feeling sick?” he asked finally. It was almost the end of the day. Almost time for them to go their separate ways for the night, but he wanted to know if Tony was okay before he left. He felt a little worried about Tony. Steve had been sick a lot when he was a baby. His mom had told him so. Said he had a “weak constitution”. Steve didn’t know what that meant. They had read The Constitution in social studies--Mr. Coulson had even made them memorize the Preamble--but Steve didn’t remember anything about being sick in there. But, he was only eleven, still just a kid. Maybe it had been in some of the words he didn’t understand.

Tony just shook his head, though. “No. I’m not sick.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting kinda weird today.”

“No. I’m okay.”

Steve nodded, but he didn’t feel better. Tony still looked sad. And Steve was starting to get desperate. He didn’t want to let Tony go home feeling bad. He didn’t have a mom anymore. Tony had told him that. Said she’d died a long time ago. Steve had lost his dad, but somehow, losing a mom seemed worse to him. Maybe just because he loved his own mom so much, and he couldn’t think of a worse thing than her dying too. She took care of him. When he was sick or feeling bad, she always took care of him. Tony didn’t have that. He didn’t talk about his father much, but Steve had seen him a couple of times--a tall guy with hard eyes and a sharp voice--and he could not imagine him sitting beside Tony’s bedside, holding his hand the way Steve’s mom did with _him_ when he wasn’t feeling good. 

“Hey,” he said, as sudden inspiration struck. “Hey, why don’t you come home with me tonight? You can sleep over. My mom can help if you don’t feel good. She’s really good at it. She does it for me when _I_ don’t feel good. She can make you grilled cheese and tomato soup, and she usually gives me ice cream after. And sometimes she even lets me read comics all night.” He shrugged, blushing a little. “Or, she says all night anyway, but I usually fall asleep before all night.” He looked hopefully at Tony, watching his face for a smile. “Do you want to? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

But Tony didn’t smile. In fact, he just looked even more sad. He shook his head quickly. “No. I-I can’t. I can’t.”

“Why not? Won’t your father let you? He might, if you ask. Right?”

And now a scary thing was starting to happen. Tony’s eyes were starting to get red, and he was starting to look mad instead of just sad. “I said no, Steve,” he said loudly. “God. Just-I said I can’t. Leave me alone.”

Steve fell back a step. It almost felt like Tony had punched him in the face. “Oh,” he muttered. “Oh. Okay. Okay. Sorry.” He blinked, kept his head down, then shrugged past Tony and down the hall.

When he reached the end of the hall, instead of going into his classroom, he just kept walking. He went out the door of the school, out into the warm sunshine, and then just didn’t stop. He felt bad. He felt like he’d hurt Tony’s feelings somehow, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done, or how to fix it. He followed the sidewalk around the side of the school, then down the path that led through the baseball field. No one was out here, and even if there had been, Steve wouldn’t have cared. Who cared if anyone saw him or he got in trouble? He’d never really been in trouble before. Maybe it didn’t matter if he did just this once.

At the end of the path was a little wooded area where Dr. Banner sometimes took his classes. He said it was to study the natural world around them, and maybe that was part of it, but Steve kind of thought Dr. Banner just liked being out of the classroom. He always seemed a little calmer when they were out there. A little easier in his skin.

Steve tossed his backpack down on the ground and sat down on a stump. He had never been out here alone before. It was nice. Sunlight came down through the leaves, making the shadows look all fluttery and shimmery, and there were birds singing in the trees. He’d never heard that before out here. Maybe with all the other kids running around and kicking through the underbrush, they flew away until it was quiet. Or maybe they just sat up in the branches watching. Steve didn’t know, but he understood why Dr. Banner liked it. It was quiet. And peaceful. He could think better here. Maybe Dr. Banner could too.

He scraped his toe through the dirt at his feet, tracing a couple of circles, tracing the shape of a star. He sighed, thinking about Tony, wondering what he’d done to make him mad, wondering why he’d-

“Steve?”

He looked up from where his toe had been drawing in the dust, and Tony was standing at the edge of the clearing. That sad look was still on his face, but now it seemed even darker--even sadder--and that made Steve want to make him feel better even more.

“Hey,” Steve said quietly.

“Hey.”

He entered the clearing, glancing up as Steve had done at the birds twittering overhead, and came to where Steve sat on the stump. He looked down at Steve’s feet, at the little designs he had made with his toe, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “You always draw,” he said. “Why do you always draw?”

Steve shrugged self-consciously. He hadn’t really even thought about it until now. “Don’t know.”

“I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment, then Tony gestured at the stump. “Room for me?”

Steve shrugged again, but slid over a bit. There was room, but just barely, and Tony sat pressed against his side. Steve didn’t mind. It was nice. Like hearing the birds overhead was nice. Unexpected, and nice.

“Sorry I got mad at you,” Tony said, his voice hushed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

He sighed, and Steve felt his shoulder rise and fall against him. “I wasn’t really mad at _you_ anyway.”

“What was it then?”

Tony ducked his head. “My father,” he mumbled. “I think we’re going back to California when school gets out.”

Steve looked at him sharply, his face suddenly cloudy and hurt. “What? No.”

“I know.”

Steve shook his head. He could feel the stump beneath him, knew the good, solid earth was under his feet, but for some reason, it felt like it was crumbling away. Like everything was crumbling away. It scared him. He hadn’t been scared for a while. Not since Tony had come and sat beside him in the cafeteria all those months ago, but he was scared now. He could feel that void that had mostly closed beginning to yawn open again. He didn’t want to fall, though. Not anymore. Because if he fell, he wouldn’t have Tony. He’d be alone, falling through that darkness. Tony wouldn’t be with him, and he didn’t want that.

He shook his head again. “No, Tony,” he said. “I don’t want you to.”

Tony pressed his shoulder more firmly against Steve’s. “Me neither,” he said.

His voice was small. Very small. And Steve felt bad again, but not for himself. Now he felt bad for Tony, and his small voice, and the way his shoulder was quivering slightly against Steve’s, and the pale shade of his skin, and he wished that there was something he could do to make him feel better. Make them both feel better.

Quickly, almost without even thinking about it, Steve leaned into Tony and pressed his lips against his cheek. It was brief, firm, and dry, but Steve pulled away feeling dazed, and a little shocked that he had just done it. But he felt good too. Like it had been the right thing. Especially when Tony’s hand rose to his cheek and brushed his fingers against the spot where his lips had been only a moment before.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Steve said, and looked down to see that his hand was now patting Tony’s knee. He wondered faintly when that had happened. “School doesn’t get out for two weeks.”

“Maybe,” Tony murmured, and his voice sounded as dazed as Steve felt. His fingers were still on his cheek, rubbing across it. Steve’s lips felt warm. Tingly. Like Tony’s skin had held a slight electrical charge. Maybe it did. Maybe that’s why Tony kept touching it. Maybe he had felt it too.

That thought made Steve’s stomach feel a little tingly too. 

He blinked a couple of times. His hand had stopped patting Tony’s knee, but it was still resting on it. He wasn’t sure when he had put it there in the first place, but he liked the way it felt under his fingers. Warm beneath the rough denim of Tony’s jeans. He swallowed, and a blush was starting to heat his own cheeks. He could feel it happening, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It just happened. He could no more stop it than he could stop today from turning into tomorrow.

“Um,” he began, the sound of his voice, a surprise even to him, “yeah. Sure he will. He’ll change his mind. That’s what grown-ups do, right? They change their-”

“Steve.”

Steve stopped in mid-sentence. 

“You kissed me.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. Tried again. “Yeah.”

Tony’s fingers finally moved from his cheek. His hand drifted slowly downward, even as he turned his head and looked into Steve’s eyes. They were serious, those eyes--almost grave--and Steve felt his blush heat up even more under their scrutiny. “You kissed me,” he said again.

Steve’s tongue poked nervously out of his mouth and dabbed his upper lip before disappearing back inside. “I wanted to make you feel better,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Steve felt a soft, warm weight on his hand, then the clasp of Tony’s fingers on his. He didn’t look down, though. He was afraid if he did, Tony might move his hand, and he didn’t want him to move it. It felt too nice. He _did_ move his own fingers a little. Just enough to make room for Tony’s to slip in between them. And they did. 

“Are you really sorry?” Tony asked.

Steve took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’m sorry I did it. Maybe just that I did it without asking first.” He thought about it, feeling Tony’s eyes on him, waiting and watching, and then nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. Not sorry I did it.”

Tony’s hand shifted in his a bit, his fingers grasping Steve’s tighter. “Maybe...maybe you could do it again?” he asked. “I wasn’t ready last time. I think I missed most of it.”

Steve swallowed past a little blockage in his throat. His mother would have said he had a frog in his throat. But he didn’t really want to think about his mother right now. Not now while Tony’s eyes were bright and dazed on him, and he was feeling all tingly and kind of...weak? Yeah. Weak. Like all the strength had left his body and he was just a dumb rag doll sitting on the stump next to Tony.

But he did want to do it again.

“Um. Okay,” he said. “If you want me to.”

“Yes,” Tony answered immediately. “I want you to.”

Steve nodded. He was glad. He felt like he had missed most of it too. “‘Kay.”

“Okay. Good,” Tony said, but when Steve started to lean into him, he pulled back a little. Steve frowned, and Tony squeezed his hand. “Have you ever tried it,” he ran his free hand through his hair, “you know, for _real_?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “For real?” he said. “You mean, like on the _lips_?”

Tony shrugged, but his eyes were still very bright. Still very solemn. And that made Steve feel a little better. He liked that Tony was serious right now. He didn’t want to feel like this was a joke. It wasn’t for him. He was glad it wasn’t for Tony either.

Steve shook his head slowly. “No. I haven’t. Have you?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Do-” Steve began, licked his lips, then tried again. “Do you wanna try?”

He wasn’t sure how it could be, but Tony’s eyes seemed to get brighter. He squeezed Steve’s hand again tightly, and didn’t loosen it. Steve could feel his fingers grinding together, but he didn’t mind. It was better, in a way. Grounding. Soothing. “Do you?”

“Don’t know,” Steve answered. “Maybe.”

“Now? Here?”

“Maybe.”

Tony sighed harshly. “ _Do_ you?”

Steve nodded. He was nervous--very nervous--but he had heard the anxiety in Tony’s voice, and he couldn’t stand to hear that. Tony was hurting enough. He didn’t want to make it any worse. And besides, he _did_ want to. He had wanted to ever since he’d kissed his cheek. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Tony sighed again, but this time it was okay. This time it was just a soft whisper of air leaving his lungs. Steve felt the caress of it on his cheek as Tony leaned a little closer to him. “Okay,” he said, and that anxious tone was gone. Now his voice was gentle and hazy, like a pastel-colored sunrise, and Steve found himself leaning into that, just as Tony was leaning into him. Closer. Closer. Steve tilted his head just a little, just so his nose wouldn’t bump into Tony’s, then closed his eyes as their lips finally touched.

It didn’t last long. Not really. Just a second. Just a lifetime. Just long enough for Steve to think that maybe the world wasn’t crumbling away after all. No, the world wasn’t going anywhere. Uh-uh. Not _the world._ It was him. _He_ was the one going somewhere. He was floating. Floating away into the ether. Into the never-never land on the other side of that sunrise that was Tony’s voice. 

But then Tony put his hand on the side of his neck, and he was back. He was steady. He was here. _Here_. Here with Tony in the clearing behind the school, and there was nowhere in the world or beyond it that he would rather be.

When they parted, it was Steve’s turn to sigh. Eyes still closed, he took in a deep breath, then let it out again in a shudder. Tony’s hand was still on his neck, his other still held firmly in Steve’s. 

Tony’s thumb brushed along the underside of his jaw. “You okay?” he asked, and Steve nodded.

He opened his eyes. Tony’s were there. Big and bright and deep. And he was smiling. Just a little, but he was smiling. Steve thought he had never felt happier in his whole life. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He nudged Tony with his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Tony’s smile deepened, and that tingly feeling exploded through his entire body. Tony leaned closer to him again, and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. His hand slipped off Steve’s neck, and caught in the fabric of his shirt instead, curling into a fist and holding on. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He paused, listening to the birds overhead, then went on. “I still don’t want to go, though. To California. I’d rather stay here.”

Steve lowered his head gently against Tony’s, marveling at the soft feeling of his hair against his cheek. “Your father will change his mind,” he said. “I’m sure he will.”

\---

He didn’t change his mind.

Of course, he didn’t.

Tony insisted they stop at Steve’s apartment building on their way out of town so he could say good-bye. Howard didn’t want to. They had a schedule. A flight. Christ, Tony, he’s just some _boy_. It’s time you started growing up a little. You’ll get over it. 

Tony didn’t beg. He didn’t cry. He just calmly said he would not get on the plane if they didn’t stop. “When we get to the airport, I’ll run away,” he said, looking Howard directly in the eye. “You won’t find me. Not until I want you to. And by then airport security will call the cops and it will be all over the news.”

Howard shook his head, disgusted. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Five minutes. That’s it.”

Tony nodded. Five minutes.

Steve met them on the street. Howard stood near the car, watching, while the two boys stood facing each other, their hands shoved in their pockets, looking at the ground. The boy, the little blond boy, dug his toe into the ground. It looked like he was drawing something with his shoe, and Howard shook his head again, wondering just what in the _Christ_ his son was doing with this scrawny, trashy kid in the first place.

“So, you’re on your way, huh?” Steve asked. He drew an arrow on the ground with his toe.

“Yeah.”

“Will you be back for school next year?”

Tony shrugged. He knew they wouldn’t. His father had said three years. _At least_ three years. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Steve’s eyes flicked over to where Mr. Stark stood in the car door. “You don’t have to go with him,” he said. “You can stay here. My mom will let you. I can ask her.”

Tony smiled, but shook his head. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “It won’t be for long.”

Steve nodded and looked at the ground again. He drew a “T” above the arrow. “‘Kay.”

Tony took a step toward him, reached out his hand to take Steve’s, but then Howard called, “Tony. Time’s up. Get in the car.”

Tony’s hand dropped.

Steve traced an “S” below the arrow. “Guess you gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

Steve looked up suddenly, meeting Tony’s eyes for the first time. He tried to smile. Tried to be brave. Even if the world was crumbling again. Tony looked back. And Steve saw that his world was crumbling a little too.

He reached out and grasped Tony’s hand. “I’ll miss you, Tony,” he said.

“Me too.”

Mr. Stark, loud and impatient: “Tony. Let’s _go.”_

“Bye.”

“Bye, Steve.”

And then he was gone. 

Steve watched him go. Watched him walk to the car, watched him climb inside, watched through the window--even though he couldn’t see through the tint--watched as the taillights flared, then watched as the car pulled away, down the street, dragging its shadow behind it. He watched. He watched until it was gone, then he wiped his eyes, thinking of the feeling of Tony’s lips pressed against his. The feel of Tony’s fingers entwined with his. Thinking of how good that had felt. Thinking that he wished he could have done it again before he left. 

He looked down at what he’d drawn in the dust. An arrow with a “T” above it and an “S” below it. He looked at it for a while, and then he drew a heart around the whole thing, turning it into a physical declaration of...what? He was too young to be in love. He knew that. But he thought if he could ever love anybody, it would probably be Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Love you guys!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing-man Sam to the rescue.  
> Just a short chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sam Wilson. Just getting that out there.

SEVENTEEN-- 

Steve stood with his shoulder pressed against his locker, history book in his hand, shuffling through the pages with quick, nimble fingers. 

“I’m sure you did fine, man,” Sam said. “Don’t worry so much. That’s part of your problem.”

“ _You’re_ part of my problem,” Steve muttered without thinking about it.

“You’re my _whole_ problem,” Sam shot back. Steve looked up from his book and met Sam’s eye, and then they were both laughing. That was the way it was between them. The way it had always been between them, and Steve loved that.

Steve shut the book with a flat clap and knocked his head against the locker a couple times. “Why do they have pop quizzes anyway?” he asked. “Don’t they get that we’re stressed enough without that on top of it all?”

Sam laughed. “Dude. Don’t. I’ve got chemistry, and trig, and physics to deal with this year. I’m pretty much fucked no matter what I do.”

“Yeah, but you’re _smart_. You’ll be okay.”

“You’re smart too.”

“Yeah,” Steve said bitterly. “Real fucking smart.”

“Who’s real fucking smart?”

Steve’s head snapped to the side, snapped to the sound of Tony’s voice like it was a siren-song on the open sea. He straightened his back unconsciously, standing taller, shoulders back, not noticing the way Sam rolled his eyes, smiling a little, and rubbed his temples. 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Tony. Hey.”

Tony smiled up at him. “Hey.” 

They’d driven around for awhile after leaving the cafe on Saturday afternoon, just listening to music and talking, catching up on some of the years in between eleven and seventeen, then said an awkward, shy, hopeful good-bye when Tony dropped him off in front of his building. They hadn’t talked to each other since, and Steve had spent the rest of the weekend nervous about what would happen on Monday when they inevitably encountered each other at school. He had been afraid they would just go on as they had before, that Tony wouldn’t really want to talk to him in school. Wouldn’t really want to hang around with him where his friends could see. But here he was, looking beautiful and golden in the noon sun coming through the high windows of the building. 

Steve forgot about his probably-failed pop quiz.

“So?” Tony prompted. “ _Who’s_ real fucking smart?”

Steve nodded toward Sam. “Sam,” he answered. “He’s real fucking smart.”

“Rogers. Language.”

Steve ducked his head, blushing as Mr. Fury, the principal, stalked by on his way from somewhere to somewhere else, not pausing, just giving Steve a hard look as he passed.

“Sorry, Mr. Fury.”

Fury grunted, but kept walking. Sam and Tony had the good grace to wait until he had disappeared into the general fray before dissolving into laughter. Steve would have been a little angry if Tony hadn’t put his hand on his arm while he laughed, holding onto him, his fingers gripping the muscle of his bicep, his palm warm against him. When that happened, Steve didn’t feel mad at all. All he felt was a tingly sensation in his stomach that he had felt before...but not for six years.

He scowled, though, trying to look mad and failing miserably. “Real funny, guys. Thanks for your support.”

Sam wiped his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t be a baby, _Rogers_. It was funny.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “ _‘Language’_. That’s never going away.”

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered, and Sam and Tony both laughed again while Steve shoved his book in his locker and locked it up. He kept his back turned a little, purposely shutting himself out of Sam and Tony’s space. He wanted to see how--or if--they’d interact with each other. He didn’t want to admit how important it was to him that they get along, but it was. 

One or the other of them--or both; Steve prayed it was both--must have realized that, because they turned to each other almost simultaneously. “Did I hear you say you were taking physics?” Tony asked. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. They want a year of it to get into the physical therapy program at NYU.”

“I took it a couple years ago,” Tony said. “If you ever want to talk about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know the equations when working with parabolic motion?”

“Yeah.”

Steve smiled a tiny, secret smile as Tony and Sam started talking about horizontal and vertical vectors, and gravity, and time. Tony did most of the talking, but Sam seemed to understand. All of it was completely above and beyond Steve’s head, but he liked listening to them talk, liked hearing the way their voices complemented and combined into a soothing, calm background hum as they walked toward the cafeteria, the three of them side-by-side, Steve in the middle, Tony and Sam bookending him neatly. Steve didn’t think he had felt such a sense of warmth and belonging in years. Especially when Tony brushed his shoulder against Steve’s as he walked. Steve was sure it was accidental--definitely not on purpose--but it still felt good.

They stood in line and loaded their trays with food, then went to Steve and Sam’s usual table. Tony slid in easily beside Steve, edging a bit closer than perhaps was necessary, still lost in conversation with Sam.

“If you know the initial point and the end point of a vector, you can use the Distance Formula to figure out its magnitude,” Tony said, then nudged Steve in the side, jolting him out of the mellow, happy place he had been existing in. “Right, _Rogers_?”

Steve shook his head, smiling a little. “Whatever you say, _Stark_ ,” he said. “I can’t even pass history, let alone have a clue what you guys are talking about.”

Tony and Sam exchanged a look, as if they’d been doing it for years. Part of Steve was thrilled to see it, but another part of him groaned internally. They were ganging up on him. He could see it in their eyes. 

“Do you need a hand with history?” Tony asked, his eyes dark with concern.

“No.” Steve.

“Yes.” Sam.

In unison, like a well-rehearsed chorus.

“ _No,_ ” Steve insisted. “I don’t. I’m fine. It’s fine. Sam’s just-” he delivered a sharp kick to Sam’s ankle under the table, making him wince, “-being the way he is.”

Tony’s face didn’t change. He kept looking at Steve with his dark, dark eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not my best subject, but I could help. If you wanted. You could come over after school.” He shrugged, his lips curving just a little tiny bit. “I could...quiz you, or something?”

Steve thought about it for a minute, his tongue creeping out of his mouth to touch his lip, thinking about sitting in Tony’s car again, having him drive fast along the streets until they got to his, no doubt, huge apartment downtown. He thought about going up in an elevator with him, going through his door. He had never been to Tony’s house before, but he’d seen enough stuff on tv about how the other half lived to know that it would be big and beautiful, full of stuff that cost more than anything Steve had probably ever even _seen_ , let alone owned. He wondered how comfortable he’d be there. If he’d be able to relax enough to actually study in a place like that, or if he’d be too nervous about accidentally breaking something to think about history at all.

“Steve?” Tony said, and the look in his eye, kind of anxious and eager, made those thoughts fly out the window. 

And Sam chose that moment to kick him back.

That helped, too. As much as he didn’t want to admit it.

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, okay. If you don’t mind. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” Tony said, and nudged him with his shoulder. “Good. I’ll meet you at your locker after last class, okay?”

“Okay.”

The warning bell rang. Steve looked up slightly, a bit surprised that lunch had flown by so fast. But that seemed to be the way it went whenever Tony was around. Time went by quickly--too quickly--and then it was over. That’s the way it had been before, too. School days went by in the blink of an eye. In fact, it was funny that he remembered anything about those days at all. The entire year had been over in a week’s time.

He stood up, grabbing his tray. “Gotta go,” he said. “I can’t be late.”

“Nah,” Sam agreed. “Not to this one.”

“What class?” Tony asked, standing next to them, the three of them forming a tight little knot.

For some reason, Steve felt a blush beginning to heat up his cheeks. Tony’s young, eleven-year-old voice in his ears: _You always draw. Why do you always draw_? _I like it._

They waited for him to answer, and then Sam took pity on him. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Art. It’s his best class.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Tony’s lips. “Still drawing, huh?”

Steve shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “‘A little’, Steve? God.” He shook his head, and gestured down the hallway. “Go to the art room sometime,” he said to Tony. “Ms. Carter has his stuff plastered all over the walls. He’s like a superhero down there.”

Steve’s blush got immediately and immensely deeper. “He’s exaggerating.”

“No. Really not.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll go take a look.”

“You should.”

“Yeah.”

“He went through a phase of painting refracted light,” Sam said, and they all fell naturally into step again. Steve in the middle, Sam and Tony to either side. “Those are my favorites.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“They are.”

Steve was quiet while they stopped at his locker to retrieve his books. Tony leaned against the one next to it, and Sam stood in front of him, the two of them talking like old friends. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Steve felt like his life had taken a direct 180 degree turn. It hadn’t been _bad_ before, but all of a sudden, it felt amazing. _He_ felt amazing. Like a part of him that he had thought was buried and gone forever was slowly crawling back up into the light. And it was funny to think that that could be happening to him. He’d never had more than one good thing at a time in his entire life. How could it be now that he had _two_? 

Unless he was getting ahead of himself.

That could be.

Better to just relax a little. Better to just wait and see. Sam was his constant. His rock. His backbone. He had been for the last four years, since they’d been paired as partners in math class. He knew he could count on Sam. Sam was solid.

Tony, though.

That was a little harder to define. And not only because of his father’s whims and inclination to just decide to up and leave for years on end at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t define Tony because there was _more_ to his relationship with Tony than there was to his relationship with Sam. There was that tingly feeling when Tony was close. That stupid, fucking tingly feeling that made him drop everything and think of nothing else whenever it happened. There was the fact that Tony stood closer to him than Sam stood. And when Tony brushed against him, Steve wanted to slide his arm around him and pull him even closer. There was the fact that they had _history_ together. The fact that he knew without a doubt what Tony’s lips felt like. What they tasted like.

No. Better to just relax. Just wait and see.

He could still enjoy what he was being given right now, though. Like a dog with an illicit table-scrap, he could just enjoy whatever Tony gave him without worrying about the consequences. He didn’t _have_ to always worry, did he? No. He could just enjoy. Just indulge. That was okay for now.

\---

Tony was standing by his locker when Steve came around the corner, just like he said he would be. Steve hadn’t been one hundred percent positive he would be, but there he was, looking as pretty as Steve had ever seen anyone look, his hair falling over his brow, his leg bent and propped against the lockers, his head down, headphones in his ears. Steve lingered a little way down the hall, his heart jogging a bit in his chest. He stood still, not wanting to disturb the picture Tony made, wanting to remember the way he looked right now, wanting to always remember, just in case things didn’t turn out the way he wanted. Just in case he only had a year with him. Or six months. Or six weeks. Or six days. He just wanted to remember the way he looked right now.

Then Tony turned his head and saw him standing there. He stood up straight, his lips curving into that smile that Steve loved so much, the one that felt like Tony reserved just for him, and Steve tried to etch that into his memory too. This one came a little easier, because he’d seen it before. Of course he had. He’d seen it almost every day for an entire school year six years ago. Steve smiled back and came the rest of the way down the hall.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“You waited.”

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. I just wasn’t sure if you really would.”

Tony put a hand to his chest. “Damn. Cutting, _Rogers_.”

Steve ducked his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You can make it up to me later.”

“How?”

“We’ll think of something,” Tony said, and there was a smooth promise to his voice that made Steve feel slightly weak in the knees. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

They left the building and climbed into Tony’s car. It was a little easier for Steve to get in this time. A little easier to ride beside him even with the prospect of spending the entire afternoon with him hanging over his head. Tony chatted as he drove, just like he did on Saturday, and Steve listened. He liked listening to Tony talk. He liked the way he spoke, and the way his mouth moved. He liked the timber of his voice, the quick, confident way he said whatever was on his mind--nothing like the way Steve himself spoke. He usually mulled things over for a moment before speaking. He liked to weigh his words in his mind before letting them out of his mouth. Tony wasn’t like that. Steve admired that.

Tony pulled his car to a stop in front of a high-rise building, and they got out. Steve stood on the pavement, looking up at it. It was huge, graceful, beautiful, nothing like the fourth-floor walk-up he and his mother lived in, and the nerves he’d felt earlier came rushing back.

“You okay?” Tony asked beside him.

Steve nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Sure. I’m okay.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Tony leaned closer. His shoulder pressed against Steve’s, and he tipped his head until his lips were close to Steve’s ear. “It’s just a house,” he said softly, and there was no trace of humor, no trace of sarcasm. All Steve heard was warmth and comfort, and he felt his muscles ease in response. Felt some of the tension leave his body. 

He sighed out a breath, and pushed himself against Tony a little more before stepping away. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Come on,” Tony said, and plucked at his jacket. “Let’s go study.”

“‘Kay.”

Steve tried to leave his nerves behind, but they followed them through the lobby, into the elevator, and then down the hallway to Tony’s front door. He lived in the penthouse. Of course, he lived in the penthouse. Howard Stark would not live anywhere but the penthouse, Steve thought bitterly, and that broke his heart a little, because he had never been bitter about people who had more than he did. But when Tony opened the door and he saw the room, all the expensive, beautiful, delicate-looking things inside, he couldn’t help but feel _something_. He was suddenly, painfully aware that his clothing had come from a discount store. That his jacket and shoes had come from a thrift shop downtown. That he and Tony, as well as they got along, really didn’t have much--or _anything_ \--in common. That hadn’t meant much when they were kids, but it meant something now. Now, it meant a lot. It meant the world.

“Um,” he said, fidgeting a little with the frayed cuff of his denim jacket. “Um, you know, you really don’t need to do this. It’s okay.” He ducked his head, trying to get away from the watchful look on Tony’s face. “I don’t really need that much help anyway. Sam’s just a...well, kind of a mother-hen sometimes.” He took a couple steps back toward the door. “I’m just gonna go. Thanks, you know, for the offer, but, I’m just-”

“That’s kind of insulting.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “What?”

Tony huffed out a hurt little laugh. “Yeah. Seriously. That’s pretty rude, Steve.”

“What is?”

He gestured toward Steve, and then the room at large. “ _You_. This.” He walked closer, closing the distance Steve had put between them. “It’s not my fault I live here, Steve,” he said. “It’s not my fault my father likes to have this stuff. Don’t take it out on me.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yeah. You were.”

Steve sighed, and let his eyes fall closed. He felt guilty now on top of feeling inferior. Ashamed of hurting Tony’s feelings for something he could control no more than Steve could control his own circumstances. 

Then he felt a tug on his sleeve. He opened his eyes and Tony’s were there, right in front of him, looking hurt but hopeful. “Hey,” Tony said, and his fingers didn’t move from where they were curled into Steve’s jacket, so close to his own hand, he could feel the warmth of his body heat. “Come on. Let’s not do this, okay? None of this has to matter, does it?”

Steve frowned, troubled. “I don’t know.”

Tony sighed and tugged his sleeve again. “It doesn’t mean anything to _me_.”

 _You can afford to not have it mean anything to you_ , Steve thought, and was thrilled in that moment that he thought things over before he said them. That would be cruel. Too cruel to do to Tony. To anyone. But especially Tony. Because it _didn’t_ mean anything to him. It didn’t. Steve knew it didn’t. Steve wished it didn’t mean anything to _him_ either. 

It did, though.

But Tony was standing there, looking at him with a little smile, and a soft, waiting look in his eyes. And he was still holding his jacket, not bothered in the least that it was old and faded, and that Steve’s clothes reeked of Wal-Mart, and that he was so different in so many other ways. No, it didn’t matter to Tony. None of it mattered.

“Come on,” Tony coaxed, and shook his jacket again like a kid, making Steve smile a little. “I like you. I don’t care about any of this. I don’t want you to care about any of it either, okay?”

And Steve felt his resistances start to crumble. How could they not? “Well…”

Tony grinned triumphantly. “Good,” he said, and then his hand slipped off the cuff of Steve’s jacket, and directly into Steve’s. He folded them together expertly, as if he had been doing it his entire life, as if he just knew how they fit together. And they did. They fit together perfectly. Like magic. Like fate. “Wait ‘til you see my room, anyway. It’s a fucking disaster.”

Steve ducked his head. He was blushing. Crazily. The feel of Tony’s hand in his, a near revelatory experience. “Stark,” he said quietly. “ _Language_.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, and used Steve’s hand to tow him down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Another nice chapter, then we'll start getting into the real meat of this thing...  
> p.s. I know fuck-all about physics. Thank Google for the science-y words. If you do know something about physics, please forgive me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little sugar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for supportive friends...and kisses.

SEVENTEEN

They were sitting in Tony’s room again. Steve sat perched on the foot of the bed, Tony in his desk chair. He had rolled it close to the bed, and they sat together, their knees not quite touching, books balanced on their laps. It was the second time they had studied together. The second time Steve had been to Tony’s house. 

The first time, they had not really studied much. After Tony dragged Steve down to his room, Steve felt a little better. Tony had been right--his room was a disaster. Clothes were strewn around on the floor. Albums, cds, and books stacked on every available surface. Pieces of electronic equipment that Steve had no hope of identifying dominated the desk and the floor around it. 

It was nothing like Steve’s own bedroom--his mother would  _ never _ allow such conditions in her neat-as-a-pin home--but for some reason, Tony’s room did make him feel better. Steve didn’t know why. Unless it was just that it was Tony’s. That those were Tony’s t-shirts lying on the floor. Tony’s boots in the corner. Tony’s bed where he lay down to sleep at night. These were things that Tony touched. That he used. That he wore. And that was probably why Steve felt comfortable in this room. Because it was Tony’s. Because Tony always made him feel comfortable wherever he was.

They sat on the floor that first day, tossing their books aside with little fanfare, and Tony put on some album Steve had never heard before. “God, listen to this  _ song _ ,” Tony sighed after every new one began, then closed his eyes, leaving Steve an open moment to just look at him without fear of embarrassment. He had never really understood the appeal of the grunge style of music, but he was quickly becoming a huge fan of Soundgarden, just because they allowed him time to study Tony’s face while in the throes of some kind of passion. Even if it was only musical.

They never really got around to the studying part that day. After a couple of hours of just sitting together, Steve finally realized it was getting late, and his mother was expecting him home. 

“So soon?” Tony asked, his voice and mouth, a pretty pout. 

Steve nodded, reluctantly standing. “Yeah. She’ll be home from the hospital soon. She likes me home for dinner.”

A wistful look crossed Tony’s face. “Oh. Okay.”

Steve shuffled his foot a little. “You could come over for dinner some night. If you wanted?”

Tony tilted his head, considering. “Yeah. Okay. I will sometime.”

“Good. Mom would like you.”

“ _ She _ would?” Tony asked, accenting the first word just enough to make Steve blush.

“Well...you know. Yeah.”

Tony smiled, and held up his hands. “Help me up.”

Steve reached out hesitantly, and Tony latched onto him and pulled himself to his feet, using Steve’s hands and solid strength to do it. They ended up bare inches from each other, hands still loosely linked. Tony was shorter than him, but his eyes were bright, the same bright, deep, silken brown they’d been the last time they had been this close together, back on that tree stump in fifth grade. They’d held hands that day too. Tony’s fingers slipping in between Steve’s like they belonged there. Like they’d been molded specifically to fit with his.

“Thanks for studying with me,” Steve said softly.

Tony’s lips curved. “Maybe we could study together again sometime?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we’d even open our books next time.”

Steve laughed a little and squeezed Tony’s hands before letting him go. “Yeah. Maybe we should. I really might fail history.”

“Well, I can’t allow that to happen, now can I?”

“Guess not.”

They stood looking at each other, both a little shy now, both wanting the other to make a definitive, decisive move, something to get them up over the “friendship” hump so they could coast into the realm of something more...but, neither quite dared yet. It still seemed too soon. To both of them. 

Steve finally took a step back, back toward the door. “I’ve gotta go.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No,” Steve said. Not because he didn’t want Tony to drive him. Because he did. He wanted to ride next to him, and listen to his music, and his voice, and smell his cologne, and maybe--just maybe--hold his hand again while he drove. But no. No. He had to think first. Think about this. Decide if this was something that was really happening, or if he was making it into more than it was. He couldn’t do that if Tony was beside him. “It’s okay. I’ll take the bus.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow though, right?”

“Right.”

Steve left then, feeling like he had missed out on something by not letting Tony drive him home. By not throwing all caution to the wind and just kissing him while they stood there holding hands in the middle of Tony’s bedroom disaster. The way he had just kissed him before when they were kids. 

He thought about it all night. While he washed up at the tiny bathroom sink, while he helped his mother with dinner, while he washed the dishes, then brushed his teeth and went to bed. He thought about it most when he went to bed. Conjuring up the memory of Tony’s soft, smooth lips on his. The feel of Tony’s hands in his hands. His breath on his cheek. His hand a light, grounding weight on his neck, keeping him from floating away to some far off destination he could not name. He thought about that. He thought about the kiss they’d shared--that sweet, chaste, brief kiss--and about tonight, too. How their hands had linked together so perfectly. He thought about that. And he thought about another kiss too. This one not quite so sweet, not quite so chaste--the kiss they could have now. If he was brave enough to actually do it.

And if Tony wanted that.

Steve was  _ pretty sure _ he did. But he wasn’t positive. Not one hundred percent, anyway. And he had to be one hundred percent. Not even 99.9 would do. It was one hundred or bust.

He thought about it most the night, tossing and turning in his twin bed, unable to sleep until the early morning light started to creep in through the window, and when his alarm woke him up an hour later, he felt like he would have been better off not bothering to sleep at all.

He didn’t see Tony when he got to school. He looked for him, but he didn’t see him. He didn’t see Sam either, and that bothered him. He always saw Sam in the mornings before school. They always met at his locker, but not today.

Steve waited around as long as he could, but when the bell rang, he ran to class and slipped into his seat only a minute late. He went to his first three classes, paying special attention in history, diligently taking notes, and when lunchtime rolled around, Sam was there, waiting for him by his locker as usual. Steve’s heart lightened a little. He’d been worried.

“Hey,” he said, “where were you this morning?”

Sam shrugged. “Nowhere. Just got here late.”

“Okay,” Steve said, instead of calling bullshit like he wanted to. Sam’s voice was just a little too blithe to be believed. “Have you seen Tony?”

“Nope.”

And again. “Okay.”

They went to the cafeteria and sat down at their table to eat. They both pretended that Sam hadn’t been lying--because, really, what did it matter? It couldn’t have been a life-and-death situation--and when Tony appeared and plopped down at Steve’s side, it was all okay again. 

Tony stole a fry off Steve’s tray, and scooted a little closer. “Hey. How did history go?”

“Good,” he said, blushing automatically as Tony’s arm brushed against his. 

“Want to come over and study tonight?”

“Um. Okay.”

Tony reached across the table and plucked a grape off of Sam’s tray. “What about you, big guy? Wanna come over?”

“Nah. I think you two can handle it. Next time, maybe.”

“Cool.”

Steve eyed the exchange between them curiously. It had been light and easy, but for some reason, he felt like there had been more going on there than it appeared. He wasn’t a paranoid guy, not really into conspiracy theories, but the way they looked at each other seemed a little too sly. A little  _ too _ light and easy. 

But then Tony smiled up at him, and that thought was driven out of his head. 

Pretty much  _ all _ thought was driven out of his head. 

And now here they sat, Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. Close, but not touching, books open this time, Tony picking out questions from the text, Steve trying his damndest to remember the answers. Trying--and he knew it was silly, but there it was--to make Tony proud of him by getting the answers right.

“‘Kay,” Tony said, leafing quickly through his book. “What was the longest battle of World War Two?”

Steve fidgeted, his brow furrowed tightly, his lip caught between his teeth. “Um. The Battle of…”

“Come on,” Tony coaxed. “You know it.”

“...the Pacific?”

Tony sighed, giving him a supportive smile. “So close. Atlantic.”

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Damnit.”

“It’s okay. You almost had it. You were on the right track, you just picked the wrong ocean.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “Yeah, ‘cause an  _ ocean _ is no big deal."

“Stop it,” Tony said, nudging him with the toe of his shoe. “You’re fine. Just concentrate, okay?”

“I am.”

“I know,” Tony said softly. “I know you are. You’re doing great. Really.”

Steve let out a breath, letting Tony’s warm tone bolster his confidence a little. He closed his eyes, and shifted his legs slightly until his knees bumped innocently into Tony’s. The touch was grounding. Electric. It felt good. So good.

“Okay,” he said. “Hit me again.”

“‘Kay, I know you know this one” Tony said, then pressed his knees harder against Steve’s. “The Axis powers lost about a quarter of their troops on the Eastern Front in which battle?”

Steve groaned. 

“We read it,” Tony whispered, his eyes an intense weight, boring into Steve’s.

He knew they had. He remembered doing it. Just today, sitting here on Tony’s bed, the mattress soft and huge beneath him--especially compared to his own--the feeling of Tony close to him, maybe not touching him, but close enough that it almost felt like he was. And now, he was for real. His knees were pressed firmly against Steve’s own now, and his eyes were hot, searing, and Steve wanted so badly to get it right. So badly to get it right for him.

“The Battle of…”

“Yeah?”

“Leningrad?”

Tony sighed harshly, and Steve fell back on the bed, defeat rolling over him like a heavy, heavy weight. He threw his arm over his eyes. He wasn’t crying--he fucking  _ refused _ \--but his eyes felt too big inside their sockets now. Too hot. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

He felt the mattress dip beside him, but he kept his arm over his eyes. Kept them shut. Kept himself from looking at, or even acknowledging Tony. Maybe if he did that, maybe if he just stayed very still and very quiet, the earth would be kind to him and open up and let him fall through.

“Steve.”

Still. Silent. No sound from him. He didn’t exist right now.

“Hey. Steve.”

Steve rubbed his face with his arm, sniffed a little. He was on his own, he supposed. The earth had forsaken him again. “I’m never gonna get this,” he mumbled, taking his arm away.

Tony was lying beside him, on his side, his head propped on his hand, looking down at him. His face was a mixture of sympathy and severity. “Yes. You. Will.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t, Tony. There’s no point in even doing this anymore.” He swallowed. “I’m not smart enough.”

Tony let out an exasperated breath. Exasperated, yes, but there was another note to it too. Something quite a bit warmer. Fondness, maybe. Affection. “You need to stop saying that,” he said. “You  _ are _ smart. And it’s stupid for you to keep thinking you’re not.”

“You’re wrong.”

Tony dug a sudden knuckle into his side, making Steve squirm with a jerk, an involuntary smile appearing on his lips. “I’m not wrong,” Tony said. “I’m never wrong.” He pinched a fold of Steve’s shirt between his fingers and twisted it, resting his hand on Steve’s chest. It seemed unconscious. Just something to do with his hands. Steve was sure that was all it was. “I really want you to stop saying you’re not smart, okay?” Tony went on. “Sam took me down to the art room this morning. I saw your stuff.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Steve asked sharply.

Tony nodded. “Yeah. He met me before school and we went down there. You’re good, Steve,” he said. “Like  _ really _ good. So quit telling me you’re not smart. Anybody who can do what you do is more than smart, okay? So just knock it the fuck off.”

But Steve was still stuck on the previous point. “You guys went there this morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Before school?”

Tony laughed. “Yeah. Sam wanted me to see. You’d think he painted them, he was so proud.”

Sam.

A warm fire lit in Steve’s stomach. That made him feel a little better about things. His smile was a little less involuntary this time, but it only lasted a second. History still loomed first and foremost in his mind in spite of his friends’ support, and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t just let it go. That his mind dwelled on that instead of on Sam’s warm heart and Tony’s warm eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, “for saying that, but it doesn’t help, Tony. What does it matter if I’m okay at art if I fail history? I still won’t graduate. I still won’t get into college. And I have to get a scholarship.” He closed his eyes again. “You know my mom can’t afford to pay for it.”

Tony’s hand left his chest, and Steve felt even worse until he felt it in his hair, softly twining through the strands. “It’s going to be okay,” Tony said. “I promise. You’re going to be great. We’re just going to keep going over it until you get it, okay? As long as it takes.”

Steve kept his eyes closed, just living in the comfort Tony was offering, the soft hand in his hair, the gentle tone of his voice. If he could stay here forever just like this, he thought--no, knew--he would. He didn’t think he’d ever felt such sweetness before. At least from anyone besides his mother. 

Finally, after a few minutes, he opened his eyes. He thought he’d felt a little better, but seeing Tony’s face, he was sure he did. “Do you really think I’m smart, Tony?”

“Yes.”

“Not like you.”

Tony tilted his head, a little smile playing around his lips. “Well, I mean…”

Steve laughed, and Tony’s fingers moved deeper into his hair, touching his scalp now. Steve sighed. It felt really good.

Tony’s tongue came out of his mouth and ran across his lips. Steve watched it, feeling helpless and almost drugged with comfort now. “I don’t just think you’re smart, Steve,” Tony said in a low voice. “You  _ are _ smart. I just think you overthink things a little.”

“How do you overthink?”

“You think about everything, instead of focusing on one thing.”

Steve hummed a little. Tony’s hand in his hair. Tony’s eyes looking down at him. Tony’s warmth pressed against his side, his voice in his ear, the scent of him, the presence of him, the knowledge that he was here, and that he thought Steve was worth something… Overthink? Right now, Steve wasn’t sure if he was thinking at all. Or if he’d ever be capable of thought again. Right now all he was doing was feeling. And for once, that was all he was doing.

“How do I know what to focus on?” he asked, and his voice sounded far away, even to his own ears.

“You look at the situation,” Tony murmured, “and then you focus on the part that brings about the desired outcome.”

“The desired outcome?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Steve gazed up at Tony. He wasn’t sure how this moment had come about. He wasn’t sure if he was even awake right now. Maybe he was still home in bed. Or maybe he had fallen asleep in class. Because  _ this _ couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be lying here in Tony’s bed with Tony himself lying beside him, fingers playing in his hair, eyes--those deep, dark eyes he had dreamed about so many times--staring down into his, filled with a heat Steve hadn’t seen even in the wildest, wettest of those dreams.

_ Asleep, _ he thought.  _ You’re asleep. This is just another dream. _

And if that was the case, why couldn’t he be a little bolder?

Steve shifted as subtly as he could, until his thigh was pressed against Tony’s. The point of contact felt brilliant. Like the July sun at high noon. “Does that work?” he asked.

“Usually.”

_ Bold. _

“Maybe you could give me an example?”

Tony laughed under his breath, and hung his head. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

_ Bold, Rogers. Be bold. _

“What’s your desired outcome, Tony?”

Tony’s fingers drifted down from Steve’s hair, trailing across his cheek, his jaw, his chin. The thumb traced his bottom lip, the top one, then the bottom again, parting them with a gentle flick. “If you have to ask,” he said, “then I am  _ really  _ doing something wrong here.”

Relief flooded through him. Relief mixed with desire. One hundred percent was what he wanted. One hundred percent was what he got. He shook his head, his hair slipping against the sensual softness of the bedsheets. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he whispered, and then he rose up a bit. Tony bent to meet him. Their lips touched. 

And for that moment--that sweet, gentle, dazzling, radiant moment--in spite of their differences, and circumstances, and everything else, Steve knew he was right where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these chapters too short? I guess its a toss-up between more frequent updates or longer chapters. Oh well. I'm just going with it, guys. It's all about the whims right now. :):):)
> 
> Thanks for reading! i love you gorgeous creatures!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a drop of angst in the sea that's to come.

SEVENTEEN

It was almost like Steve remembered. 

The softness of his mouth was the same. The heat of his body. Even the feeling of Tony’s hand on his neck. Because that’s where it went. Right to the side of his neck, and rested there, the fingers pressing lightly against his skin, his thumb caressing the underside of his jaw. It was so familiar. So sweet. So good. So much of what he’d thought about all the years in between now and then, made better by the fact that this was  _ real,  _ and not just something he thought about in the middle of the night when he was feeling lonely or sad.

There were differences too, of course. There was the very light rasp of his stubble against Steve’s chin. The faint taste of coffee on his lips. And the confidence he exuded now. The confidence that suggested that, unlike Steve, he had probably kissed a few other people during their time apart. He wondered if Tony could tell that his only kiss had been the one they’d shared all those years ago, but then he pushed that away. It didn’t matter.  _ Tony  _ was what mattered. And he was right here with him. Again.

“Mmm,” Tony hummed, pulling away just enough to break the kiss, but staying within easy distance of Steve’s mouth. “Yeah. That was the outcome I desired, alright,” he breathed. “And you said you’re not smart.”

Steve laughed gently, and let his hand travel to Tony’s hip. “That didn’t take much thinking, Tony.”

“Really?” Tony said. He brushed his lips against Steve’s again softly, deliberately. “‘Cause I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t thought about it.”

“So, you have thought about it?”

Steve laughed again, and rolled his eyes upward, escaping Tony’s, a blush heating his cheeks. “Um. Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”

Tony ran his finger along Steve’s jaw. “Did you think about me before?” he asked. “After I left?” He bent his head, touched his mouth to Steve’s cheekbone. “I thought about you.”

“You did?”

“Of course, I did,” Tony answered. “You were my best friend. My  _ only _ friend.

Steve reached up and slipped his fingers through Tony’s hair. He was still at least partly convinced this was a dream, so he still felt okay with being a little bolder than he usually would have been. “You were my only friend too.”

Tony kissed him again, slowly, then propped his head on his hand. His other came back to rest on Steve’s chest like it had done earlier. Steve was sure Tony would be able to feel the thundering of his heart under his palm. He hoped he could. “So, you  _ did _ think about me?”

He nodded, his blue eyes serious. “Yeah, Tony. I thought about you all the time. Every day. Every single day.” Tony smiled at him, and he bit his lip. “Not in a weird way,” he said. “Not in a creepy, stalker-y way, just…”

“Am I not worth stalking, Steve Rogers?” Tony asked. “You wound me.”

Steve laughed again, and god, that felt good. He scratched his nails along Tony’s side, drawing him back to his mouth. “You’re worth stalking. I’d stalk you.”

Tony bent down, and pressed his lips to Steve’s again. “You’d better say you’d stalk me,” he murmured against him. 

“I would.”

“I’d stalk you too,” Tony said, and then they were kissing again, Tony’s mouth on his, his hand back on the side of his neck, and if Tony was put off by Steve’s inexperience, he certainly didn’t show it. He let his mouth linger on Steve’s, gently but firmly, before finally parting his lips enough to let his tongue tease along the seam of Steve’s mouth. Steve opened his lips just a little, calling on instinct alone to help guide his tongue to Tony’s, and let it slide against his in a tender, hesitant undulation. It felt like heaven to him. A heaven he had not even been sure he believed in until he experienced it for himself right now.

After a moment, Tony pulled back a little, and sighed. He tipped his forehead against Steve’s, his eyes closed tightly. Steve wanted to kiss his closed lids. He wondered what that delicate skin would feel like against his lips. “Steve,” Tony whispered. “I-”

But he didn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say, because just as he opened his mouth, they heard the flat clap of a door slamming down the hall.

Tony’s head shot up. His whole body tensed as if an electric current had been sent through it. He pushed off Steve’s chest and leapt to his feet, running a hand through his hair, smoothing it. “My father,” he said urgently.

Steve copied him, sitting immediately up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, mourning already the loss of Tony’s velvet lips. Tony straightened his shirt and threw himself back into the office chair. It rolled a little under his weight, and Tony let it, let it take him backward, away from Steve. He reached down and grabbed a book--it wasn’t his history book, but it was something--and Steve picked up his own, pretending to read as Howard Stark came into the doorway.

He was almost the way Steve remembered too.

Maybe not as tall as he’d seemed back then, but his face was still thin, his eyes still hard. He had his tie pulled down a little, the top button of his shirt undone. There was a glass in his hand, amber whiskey splashed over a single ice cube. He took in the room, the two young men sitting in it, and Steve had the distinct impression he knew exactly what they’d been doing before he came down the hall.

“Hi, Dad,” Tony said.

Howard glanced at him, his mouth twisting in subdued, unconscious distaste. “What’s going on here?”

Tony shrugged. “Just studying.” He gestured at Steve. “Remember Steve? I told you we were in the same school again.”

Steve got to his feet, unfolding himself from the foot of the bed. He was acutely aware of his own blush, and the way his lips felt--all red and swollen. And if he felt it, then he was positive he looked the part, as well. Looked exactly like he had just been kissed stupid. But he took a deep breath and stood up straighter. He wanted to at least  _ try _ and make a good impression. He held out his hand. “Um. How are you, Mr. Stark?” he asked.

Howard looked at his hand, then raised his eyes to Steve’s. Steve was taller than he was. Not by much, but enough so that Howard had to tip his face upward at first. He gazed at him for a second, then let his eyes flit over the rest of him, sizing him up, cataloguing everything about him, his stature, his physique, his clothing, his  _ everything _ . 

And he was disgusted. 

Steve saw it. Saw the judgement come in the space of four seconds. The judgement that said  _ Unworthy  _ loud and clear. Steve’s heart fell somewhere down around his knees. He felt that too.

Howard glanced at Steve’s hand still hanging in mid-air, and his face changed, a cool professionalism taking over. He reached out and clasped it, gave it a brief, single pump, then released it. Steve could see him restraining himself from wiping his hand against the leg of his pants when it was over, as if he had touched something dirty. “You’ve gotten taller,” Howard said.

Steve nodded, ducking his head. His blush still flamed. There was nothing he could do about it. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’re in some of Tony’s classes?”

“No, sir,” Steve said. “Tony’s in advanced classes. I’m just taking the basics.”

Howard grunted. Like it was exactly what he had expected.

“You should see his art, though, Dad,” Tony said suddenly, and both men looked at him, Howard’s eyes narrowed, Steve’s widening. “He’s amazing.”

Steve shot him a tiny, complicated smile, one that was grateful, and shy, and embarrassed all at the same time.

“ _ Art _ ,” Howard repeated slowly, turning the word into something ugly, and took a long sip from his glass. His eyes traveled over Steve one more time, that feeling of  _ Unworthy _ , that feeling of  _ Repulsed _ so clear on his face. “How nice,” he drawled. “That will get him a good job waiting tables someday.”

Steve’s face fell. His heart fell even lower. It felt like it had dropped out of his body altogether. He thought if he looked at the floor, he would see it lying there at his feet, ready to be trodden on by Howard Stark’s expensive Italian loafers. It wouldn't matter, anyway. It couldn't hurt any worse than what he'd just said.

“ _ Dad _ !” Tony exclaimed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Howard lifted his glass, pointing his index finger at Tony with practiced ease. “Watch your mouth, kid.”

“My god, you can’t just  _ say  _ stuff like-”

“Tony,” Steve said, and even though his voice was quiet, Tony stopped talking. Steve shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“No. It is.” 

Steve moved back to the bed and picked up his books. He shoved them into his backpack, then slipped into his jacket. He didn’t bother trying to hide the frayed seams from Howard’s keen eye. It wouldn’t matter. It was obvious his mind was made up. 

“Steve,” Tony said, “don’t go.”

Steve shook his head. “I should. My mom’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Steve-”

“It’s getting late, son,” Howard said blandly. The ice in his drink chuckled against the side of the glass as he took another sip.

Tony glared at him, then stood up. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m sure Mr. Rogers, here, is perfectly comfortable taking the bus. Isn’t that right?”

Steve straightened his spine a little, lifted his chin. It was not on purpose, but he felt it happen, and he was glad. He looked Howard in the eye. “Yes, sir, I am,” he said. His voice held an unconscious, icy tone he had never heard before. He was glad about that too. 

Howard stepped out of the doorway, leaving it open so Steve could go through.

Steve looked at Tony. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair. His face was pale, his eyes dark, lips red. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess.”

Steve nodded. “Mr. Stark,” he said.

“Steven.”

Steve brushed past him, trying to hold onto his composure until he could get out the door. He knew that Tony was upset, he knew he was hurt, but Steve had to get out. Had to get away. His own head was screaming at him that Howard was right. Of course, he was right. What had he been  _ thinking _ , believing that maybe he and Tony could even be friends, let alone the something more he had dreamed of?

His head was saying that, but there was still a little part of him--the little part that stiffened his spine when Mr. Stark spoke--that wouldn’t let him drown in that, no matter how much he might want to. 

But he still had to get out.

He tried not to think about Tony on the bus ride home. He tried not to think about that hurt look on his face, the way his eyes flicked between Howard and Steve as they spoke to each other. He tried not to think about the way he’d stuck up for him, and the way he’d said, “I guess,” in such a small voice. He tried not to think about that because that just hurt more. Just made him wonder if Howard was right after all. And then the whole vicious circle would start up again, his desolation and his pride battling to see which would be the one that came out on top.

Steve opened the door of his own apartment twenty minutes later. He looked around, noticing for the first time how small it really was. How the furniture was old and worn, and the coffee table was propped up by a matchbook under one leg so that it wouldn’t wobble.

But he also noticed how warm it was. How clean and tidy. How the handmade curtains fluttered a little in the breeze coming through the partially open window. How it smelled like rose and the pot roast his mother had simmering on the stove.

“Steve? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

He went into the kitchen. His mother was standing at the counter, tossing a salad with a set of wooden tongs. “There you are,” she said, smiling up at him. “Go wash up, then come help me finish dinner. I got that french bread you like at the market. And that apple tart you had your eye on the other day.”

Steve stood looking at her. Standing there in her scrubs, her hair tied back, her eyes tired...but happy. Happy to see him. 

“You okay, hun?” she asked.

Steve squeezed past the tiny kitchen table already set for two, and came to her. She was a lot smaller than he was, but he still knew she would catch him when he fell against her. And she did. She wrapped her arms around him and held him while he buried his head in the curve of her neck and closed his eyes. 

“Honey?” she asked, her voice concerned and soft. “What’s going on here?”

He shook his head without lifting it from her shoulder. He clutched his arms around her, holding on, not wanting to let go. She held him tightly, and rubbed his back with long, soothing strokes.

“Nothing, Mom,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

She kissed his temple. “I’m glad you’re home too, honey.”

“Mom? If I ever wanted to invite a... _ friend _ over...that’d be okay, right?”

“Of course,” she said. “I want to meet all your friends.”

Steve shifted a little, holding her tighter. “Even if... _ he _ was a little different from us?”

She tensed just the tiniest bit, then squeezed him tightly against her, tighter than she had ever held him before, and kissed him again. “ _ All _ your friends, honey,” she said in his ear. “If they’re important to you, they’re important to me. That’s all I care about.” She pulled back and held him at arm’s length. Her eyes were bright and still happy. Still happy to see him. “Okay?”

Steve nodded. He felt like crying. Good crying, but still crying. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, honey,” she said, then patted his cheek. “Now go wash up and get back here, please.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

\---

Steve waited for Tony before school.

He’d thought about it all night. Thought about how ridiculous and selfish he had been just running out like that when maybe Tony had needed him to stay. Like maybe he had needed Steve in a way he hadn’t realized, and how he had abandoned Tony to the coldness of his father, and how he himself had been able to go home to the comfort of his mother. He thought about how unfair that was. How cruel. And he vowed to do better. If Tony let him, he would do better.

He looked at his watch for the third time, noting how the minute hand had crept around the face another few times.

“He’s probably just running late,” Sam said. 

Steve had told him what had happened in as tactful a way as possible. He hadn’t told him about the kisses they’d shared--that was private, just for him and Tony--but he did tell him that Howard hadn’t been too happy to see him, and that Tony had tried to stick up for him. He told him that he had left Tony alone with an angry Howard, and now he was worried. 

Steve bit his lip and looked anxiously up and down the hall. “I have to go over there,” he said. “What if he did something? What if he hurt him?”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

“We don’t know that.”

Sam shook his head in agreement. “No. I guess we don’t.”

An image of Tony lying in his bed, either bruised and bloody, or simply lost in a mire of depression rose up in Steve’s mind, and he slammed his locker closed with an angry shove. “I’m going over there,” he said. “I left him. I gotta go see if he’s okay.”

“Steve. You don’t need to.”

Steve flashed his blue eyes--eyes that had darkened three shades--at Sam. “ _ Yeah _ , Sam, I do.”

“ _ No _ , Steve. You don’t,” Sam said, and nodded down the hall.

Tony was walking toward them. 

Steve’s eyes raked him over as he came nearer, looking for anything that looked bruised, or bandaged, looking for anything that was wrong, but he didn’t see anything until Tony reached them. Then he saw something. He saw Tony’s eyes. And they looked wrong. They weren’t the bad, dark, vagabond eyes that had set his heart aflame from the moment he’d seen them. They were guarded, secretive, something that Steve could have sworn was absolutely impossible with Tony being who and what he was. A free-spirit. Someone both wildly inventive, and exceedingly patient and tranquil at the same time.

“Tony,” he said.

Tony stopped in front of him, looking up at him with those strange eyes. “Can I talk to you?” And his voice was wrong too. Hard. Stiff.

“I-” Steve began, then stopped when the bell rang. Tony didn’t look away. Didn’t even flinch.

“Go,” Sam said. “I’ll cover for you. Just go.”

Tony spun on his heel and stalked away. Steve mouthed  _ Thanks _ at Sam, then followed after him, jogging a bit to catch up. 

Tony glanced into a couple of classrooms until he found an empty one, then went inside. Steve ducked in behind him and closed the door softly. Tony didn’t look at him. He stood halfway down an aisle of student desks, his wrong-looking eyes on the floor, his mouth twisted into a scowl. He didn’t say anything.

Steve didn’t say anything either. He just came down the aisle and took Tony into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Tony stiffened inside his embrace. “Tony. I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck are you apologizing for?” Tony snapped. 

Steve shook his head and curled his hand into Tony’s jacket, holding onto him. He put his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, feeling the soft skin against his cheek and smelling the spicy scent of his cologne. 

Tony stood straight, not moving, but somehow, Steve felt the fight draining out of him. Tony swallowed. “Wait a minute,” he said, his voice had changed too. No longer was it hard and challenging. Now it was the epitome of confusion. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated, hugging him tighter. “I shouldn’t have just left like that last night. It was stupid. I was upset and stupid. I’m sorry.”

Some of the tension slipped out of Tony’s shoulders. Steve felt his hands come up and touch his waist, and he was glad. So glad. Tony shook his head. “No,” he said. “Steve, you’re not supposed to be sorry. You didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “I know I didn’t. I just left. I should have stayed and-and talked to him or something.”

Tony laughed sharply. Steve didn’t like it, but at least it was laughter. “Talking doesn’t do any good with Howard, Steve,” he muttered.

“Well, I should have done something else, then.”

Tony’s arms slipped around him. Steve felt them lace together at the small of his back. “No, you shouldn’t have. ‘Cause it wouldn’t have mattered. Howard is…”

“What?”

“He’s a dick.”

Steve laughed a little against Tony’s neck. “That makes two of us,” he said, and this time Tony’s laughter was a little softer, a little more genuine. “Are you okay?”

Tony eased against him completely, finally melting into him. Steve sighed in relief. “Yeah,” Tony said. “I’m fine.”

“He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“No. No, he’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Tony said, and his hand slipped up through Steve’s hair, smoothing it behind his ear. “I’m sure.”

Steve sighed again. “Good.”

They stood there for a while together, the only sound, the big clock hung over the door, the second hand ticking away the moments. They were aware of the passage of time, but neither knew--or cared--how much went by, because right now there was nothing as important as the other’s embrace. The other’s breath. The other’s heartbeat thumping in time with their own.

And when Tony did speak, it was uncharacteristically hesitant. “So,” he began, “you’re not mad at me?”

Steve shook his head against Tony’s shoulder. “Uh-uh.”

“I thought you’d be mad at me. ‘Cause of Howard. I had a whole apology-speech memorized.”

Steve laughed a little. “You can save it for another time.”

“And you still want to hang out with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony pulled back, not leaving Steve’s arms, just enough so he could look at him. His eyes were serious, but they had lost that  _ wrong _ look. That secretive look. They looked normal now. Just serious. He licked his lips. “Do you want to...be my boyfriend?”

Steve smiled.

“I mean, we’d have to keep it,” Tony tipped his head this way and that, “you know, kind of between us. For now. ‘Cause, as you can tell after last night, my father isn’t the most progressive guy in the world, and he really is a  _ major _ dick, and I don’t want him to-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Steve nodded. “Yes. I want to. Be your boyfriend.” He ducked his head, letting out a happy breath. “I’d love that.”

“Really?” Tony asked anxiously.

Steve nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Even if we have to be a little quiet about it for a while?”

“Yeah. I don’t care.”

Tony closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. Steve stared at the curve of his throat, thinking that if this was real, if this was really happening and not just a part of the continuing dream he was still half-convinced he might be having, he could--theoretically, at least--put his lips there right now. 

And, as if reading his mind, Tony straightened his head, opened his eyes. They were dark and deep again in the dim. Warm.  _ Hot _ . Steve couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to, either. “Could you start kissing me or something?” Tony asked. “I think if you’re my boyfriend, you should be kissing me right now.”

Steve’s arms were still around him, and now he tightened them. Tony came willingly, eagerly, closer, tipping his face up to Steve’s, and Steve did as he’d been asked, and kissed him. He didn’t think about it. He didn’t worry about Howard and what he would think about it, or if someone came in and saw them, or even about his own limited experience. He didn’t think about any of that. 

All he thought about was Tony.

And when they broke apart some time later, they just stood holding each other again in the dim classroom, Steve’s arms around Tony’s neck, one of Tony’s arms around Steve’s waist, one hand knotted securely in his hair. 

“That went better than I thought it was going to go,” Tony said, and Steve laughed. He placed a gentle kiss on the side of Tony’s neck.

“Me too,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! Next chapter up in a few days. I'm just writing it now, so guess we'll see what happens!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get physical...
> 
> I'm so sorry. I watched Grease last night, and Olivia Newton-John was just stuck in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOkkkaaayyy.  
> I know these two are technically underage. I know it. I struggle with this. A lot. However, they are both seventeen, almost eighteen, so I'm going to be okay with that. THIS IS WHY I DON'T WRITE HIGH SCHOOL STUFF. There's the ick-factor attached to the word "underage", so I try to stay away from it altogether. I tried not to be explicit. Sorry if anyone is either offended, or thinks that I'm a huge dork for even worrying about it in the context of a fan-fiction alternate universe take on high-school-aged superheroes. Reading that back makes me sound like a huge dork. Meh, that's okay. I've been called worse.

SEVENTEEN 

They kept it a secret.

Mostly.

Of course, there was no way Steve could keep it from Sam--not with his built-in bullshit detector wherever Steve was concerned. Nor could they keep it from Tony’s friends, Natasha and Clint, who were thrilled to abandon their usual lunch table and join Steve and Sam’s as soon as they found out Sam was taking some of the classes Tony had. 

“Oh, thank Christ,” Clint declared. “I was getting really tired of pretending to care about all that science-y shit.”

“That science-y shit could save your life some day,” Tony said.

Clint rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I have to think about it. Or care about it. Or listen to you blather on about it. Or-”

Nat threw an elbow into his stomach, and he gripped it, moaning theatrically. “Shut up, Barton.”

“That was mean,” he said. “Kiss me and make me feel better.”

“No way. I already made that mistake.”

He turned to Steve. “How ‘bout you, gorgeous? Wanna make that mistake too?”

Steve's face turned an alarming shade of red, while Tony and Sam cackled on the other side of the table. 

Natasha elbowed Clint again. “Seriously, Barton. Leave him alone.”

“Aww, come on. He might regret it for the rest of his life, but he’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Yeah, because _that_ ninety seconds is really worth a lifetime of regret,” Nat said.

“Ninety seconds?” Clint repeated. “It’s three minutes, I’ll have you know.”

Then they all laughed, even Steve, although his face stayed brilliantly red, especially when Tony caught his eye, winked, then hooked his ankle around Steve’s underneath the table.

But they mostly kept it to themselves. Kept it _for_ themselves. And that was the best part of it for both of them. Steve had something that belonged to him. Only him. The fact that even though he didn’t have much--had never had much--he had Tony now. And for Tony, who had always had everything he ever wanted, but no true affection or love, now felt smothered in it whenever he was around Steve, and it was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. 

Of course, Steve had not _said_ the words “I love you”. Even if he felt them more and more every day, he didn’t say them because it was too soon and he didn’t want to scare Tony away. He didn’t _think_ Tony would run, but he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to take the chance of losing him just when things were getting so good.

Tony hadn’t said the “I love you” words either. He wanted to. He’d been pretty sure, even back when they were eleven-going-on-twelve that he was in love with Steve Rogers, and now he knew it for sure, but there was no way in hell he was going to say it. He’d seen his parents’ marriage before his mother died. He’d seen the way Howard treated her even while telling her he loved her, and he didn’t want that to happen to him and Steve. He never wanted that to happen. 

So, neither of them said it. Both of them felt it, though. Both of them felt like this was the best thing they had ever had in their entire lives. And they were right.

After the Howard-debacle, they started studying in a corner of the library. Sometimes Sam joined them. Sometimes Natasha or Clint would come and sit with them for an hour, but usually it was just Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. Sitting across from each other in the quiet room, talking in hushed tones about history for Steve, and Advanced Calculus for Tony. Steve had no idea what he was saying, but he liked listening to Tony talk about it. 

Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. Sometimes, they just sat there, books open, notebooks and pencils and pens strewn about, looking, for all intents and purposes, like they were studying, but they weren’t. Not schoolwork, anyway. No, during those times, they just sat looking at each other, eyes playing little teasing games while they studied each other instead. Not even the librarian came through much, so they felt safe doing it. Safe thinking that they were in their own world there, where no one would bother them.

Tony was sitting there now. He’d been waiting for the last fifteen minutes, checking his watch every few seconds, wondering where Steve was. He had his Calc book out, but he’d only worked one problem. Not that it was much of a problem. Not for him, anyway. He could have whipped through the book in a matter of days, but he didn’t. He knew if he worked too quickly or too well, his teacher would tell his father, and then Howard would pull him from this school and send him to a private one. 

Tony knew he was just waiting for a reason to do it. He hadn’t wanted Tony in public school, at all. Maria had set it up last time before she died, and this time, Tony, himself, had insisted. He didn’t want to go to private school. He _hated_ the thought of private school. He knew he was destined for the Ivy League after graduation, and he wanted to spend as much time being a regular kid as he could before he was set on the path of the Ivies, followed by Stark Industries, followed by...death. Fifty cold years and three heart attacks later, if he was to follow in his father’s footsteps like the old man wanted.

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. He knew what he was meant to do. Howard had always been very frank with what his expectations were, first with Maria, then with Tony after she died. And Tony didn’t mind. He really didn’t. He knew he would do well in the company--maybe even better than Howard--and he had already thought of improvements that could be made when he took over, but that didn’t mean he wanted to start _right now._ No, right now, all he wanted was to have friends, and sit in the dusty, hazy, lazy, chalk-smelling classrooms, and eat lunch in the cafeteria, and meet Steve to study after school.

If he ever got here, that was.

Tony looked at his watch again, and closed his book with a snap. He wasn’t coming. For some reason, he-

“Hey. Sorry I’m late”

And then everything seemed better.

Tony fixed a scowl on his face, even though what really wanted to surface was a dopey, lovestruck grin. He tapped the face of his watch. “Three- _twenty_ ,” he emphasized, and Steve went ahead and grinned. He didn’t care about what he looked like. He never did. Tony probably wouldn’t either if he was as ridiculously beautiful as Steve Rogers.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony muttered. “You did. And I believe you, too.” He flicked a hand in Steve’s direction. “Or at least I would if you looked even the slightest bit sorry.”

Steve kept grinning, but he glanced around furtively, saw no one, then leaned over Tony’s chair and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I am,” he said, and kissed him again. “Very sorry. Very, really sorry.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Do you believe me now?”

Tony huffed in feigned irritation and rolled his eyes. “I guess.” Steve gave him one more quick peck, then drug his chair close and sat down. Tony watched him do it, watched how he didn’t stop smiling the entire time, and he felt a little tug of suspicion. “What are you so happy about?” he asked.

Steve shrugged his broad shoulders, then propped his chin on his hand. He was sitting closer than they usually sat, with only the corner of the table between them. He reached out and touched Tony’s hand, brushing his fingers along his wrist in absent little strokes. “Nothing much,” he said.

“‘Nothing much’?” Tony repeated. “You’re so convincing. What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Steve reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a folded piece of paper. He held it out. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Just look at it.”

“Aww,” Tony teased, “did you write me a love-note?”

He expected a blush and a quick _No_ , but Steve surprised him. He lifted one shoulder again, “I don’t know,” he said. “Kinda. In a way, I guess.”

“Really?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just looked pointedly at the paper in Tony’s hand.

“Okay,” Tony said, unfolding the paper. “But this had better be some Shakespeare-level romance, Steve, or I’m going to-”

And then he stopped talking.

Tony had seen a couple of Steve’s history test-sheets before, but usually they were bloodied with his teacher’s merciless red pen, hacking away at all Steve’s wrong answers. It had seemed gleeful in a way, all those red slashes and hastily-scribbled words like _NO_ and _Re-read Chapter 9!_ Steve had always taken it to heart rather than taking offense, but Tony had no such compunctions, and was highly offended on Steve’s behalf. But this one, however, was nothing like that. It couldn’t be called pristine, what with it’s eraser marks and a jagged tear on one corner, but it certainly was much prettier than any other Tony had seen. There were only red checks beside two questions, and they seemed much smaller than the previous ones. At the top, was a circled 94, and a note saying, _Much improved, Mr. Rogers! Keep it up!_

Tony raised his eyes and found Steve’s. “Baby,” he breathed, and Steve smiled.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” he said.

“ _Ninety-four_! You got a sixty-eight on your last one.”

“I know.”

Tony smacked his arm. “You didn’t even tell me you had a test! What the hell?”

Steve looked down at his hands again, but Tony could see the small, secret curve of his lips. “I didn’t want you to worry. Or be upset if I failed again.”

Tony glanced around to make sure they were still alone, then cupped his hand around the back of Steve’s neck. The ends of his hair brushed deliciously against Tony’s wrist. “I would never get upset,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Steve glanced into his eyes, then back down. “Yeah,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t. I would, though. And then you’d be upset that I was upset.”

Tony nodded his head. “That might be true,” he said. His fingers slipped up through Steve’s hair, relishing that silky texture. “I don’t like seeing you upset. Sue me.”

Steve leaned forward. His eyes were lidded as he pressed a soft kiss against Tony’s mouth, lingering longer than he usually did. Not that kisses, or hugs, or anything physical was exactly _usual_. Trying to be discreet, they hadn’t really gotten too much of that since they’d become an item. An occasional, illicit peck like Steve gave him when he came in today. A short, tight squeeze when they found themselves alone in the school hallway. Twice, when Steve let Tony drive him home instead of riding the bus, they’d had a quick, fumbling make-out session in an empty parking lot. They didn’t have the chance to get too heated, though. Steve was always too conscious of the time, and Tony always too conscious of the surroundings to get too into it. The two times it had happened, Tony went home and directly to his room afterward. Lying on his bed, he thought of Steve’s hands running along his arms and resting on his thighs while he put his own hands to use in a way that Steve had never done, but Tony thought about probably much more often than was healthy. 

Tony’s heart sped up now while Steve kissed him. He felt it thumping in his chest, in his pulse points, and he had a sudden, intense urge to climb up into Steve’s lap and just keep going. Damn the time, and damn the surroundings. He just wanted to press against Steve--his _boyfriend_ , after all--and let him kiss him senseless. Let him do other things too. Let him do whatever he wanted, and damn the fact that the librarian could come along at any second to see just what the fuck those strange noises were coming from the self-help section.

Before he could act on his impulse, though, Steve pulled back. He stayed close, stayed close enough so Tony could still feel the heat of his skin, and whispered, “Thank you for that.”

“Mmm. For the kiss or the offer to sue me?”

Steve laughed quietly. “Both, I guess,” he said, and tipped his head to kiss him again. Just a short kiss. A soft one. “And for helping me. I really wouldn’t have gotten that grade without you. It’s all ‘cause of you. I’m serious.”

Tony knew he shouldn’t, knew they were skating on thin ice now, but he could not resist another kiss. He couldn’t resist feeling Steve’s mouth on his one more time. “I’m so proud of you, baby.” Steve ducked his head, smiling a little. Tony had never called him that before today. It felt good coming out of his mouth, though. It felt right. Tony sighed, contented and happy. He flicked his hand at his books. “Do you still want to study?”

Steve shrugged, but it was far from casual. It seemed more like a jumpy tic of the shoulders, a jerk up and down. “I don’t know. I guess we should.”

“We don’t have to. You deserve a day off.”

Steve smiled at him, suddenly looking nervous. “No. We should, but…” His eyes connected with Tony’s, jumped nimbly away, then came back.

Tony put his hand on his knee. “What’s with you all of a sudden?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking back down at the table. “I was just thinking...maybe we could study somewhere else today.”

Tony nodded. “Sure. Where?”

Steve’s tongue slipped out of his mouth and touched his upper lip. Tony sighed again at the sight of it. He shifted in his seat, suddenly very aware of his nerve endings. “Um,” Steve said, “how ‘bout my house?”

Tony frowned a little. “Your house?” he asked. 

“Yeah.”

Tony sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, his brilliant mind weighing his options. It wasn’t really the answer he’d expected, and he didn’t want to hurt Steve by just saying _no_ outright, even though, in his head, that had been his immediate response. “I don’t know, Steve,” he said reluctantly. “In case you don’t remember, our last parental meet-and-greet did _not_ go well, and I don’t know if your mom-”

Steve reached for Tony’s hand. He held his fingers and chafed them softly between his own. “Tony,” he said earnestly, “I want you to meet my mom. I do. I really, really do, but…” 

He slipped his fingers between Tony’s, lacing them together for a brief second before turning his hand and scratching his nails along Tony’s palm. It seemed unconscious, movement just for movement’s sake, as if he was trying to calm his own nerves by touching Tony, the only problem was, his touch was anything but calming to Tony. The delicate scrape of Steve’s nails on his palm was intensely thrilling in the same way feeling his tongue in his mouth during their all-too-brief kisses was thrilling.

Tony swallowed past a small blockage in his throat. “But?” he prompted.

Steve glanced quickly into his eyes again, then back down at their joined hands. “But she’s working a swing shift today,” he said. “She won’t be home until three.”

“Umm,” Tony said, trying not to lose the train of his thoughts to the feeling of Steve’s fingers slipping through his again. “It’s past three, Steve. Three-twenty, remember?”

“AM, Tony,” he said quietly. “Three _am_.”

Tony's eyes widened slightly as the full weight of that statement sunk in. Three am. _Three AM._ That meant Steve’s house was empty. That meant they’d be alone.

Alone.

“Oh,” he managed. His mind tried for something else, some smart, witty thing to say to make this a little easier on him, but it seemed to have short-circuited somewhere around _Three am._ Humor was his fallback when he didn’t know what to say or do. It always had been. But his fallback required the use of his brain, and it was failing him. All he could think about were the implications of _three am._ “Oh.”

Steve watched him carefully, his brows contracting a little. Now he looked uncertain, as if he’d said something wrong. The blush Tony had expected earlier came now, but not his favorite pale, pretty pink. No, this time it was a dull, brick red. And Steve’s eyes were darker too. Dark and worried the way they got when he got hung up on a tough history question. 

He let go of Tony’s hand and sat back. “It’s okay,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.” He took in a deep breath. “I just...um...no. No. It’s okay.” He drug his backpack up onto the table and unzipped it, digging around inside it in a way that was obviously just something to occupy his hands and his mind so they didn’t have to deal with this.

 _Say something, goddamnit!_ Tony screamed at himself. He could see Steve retreating from him, could see how Tony’s apparent indecision--or worse, disinterest--was tearing him to pieces. He was so shy. So sweetly innocent, that just suggesting what Tony thought he was suggesting must have taken an amount of courage that Tony could barely fathom, and the look on his face--that furrow between his eyebrows, that turned-down mouth--was enough to kickstart Tony’s brain again. He didn’t want Steve sad. Or worried. Or afraid he wasn’t interested. He wanted happy-Steve. He wanted sweet-Steve. He wanted...Steve. Just Steve.

“Steve,” he said, and was ecstatic when his voice came out steady. “Let’s go.”

He shook his head without lifting it from his backpack. There wasn’t really much in there. Tony had gone through it a couple times looking for a piece of gum or a pencil, so he knew it was pretty sparse in there, but Steve was prospecting around inside it like he was looking for gold nuggets. “Nah,” he said. “We shouldn’t anyway. Mrs. Perkins is usually home this time of day, and she’s pretty nosy. She’d probably call my mom at work just to ask her who I had brought home with me.”

Tony stood up and took Steve’s hand. He wasn’t going to let this chance go by. A chance for them to be together. Alone. Without sitting in bucket seats with a gear-shift between them. Especially since it was Steve who had suggested it. Tony would give him anything he wanted. _Anything_. And, if what Steve wanted coincided with what Tony dreamed about, then that was just extra frosting on the cake. Seize the day. Tony had seen that movie.

“I don’t care about Mrs. Perkins,” Tony said, giving his hand a tug. “Come on. I want to go to your house.”

Steve gripped Tony’s hand, but didn’t look at him. “We don’t have to.”

“You’re right. We don’t have to. I _want_ to.”

Big blue eyes finally met his. “Really?”

Tony bent down and kissed his mouth. Fully and completely, letting his tongue in, tasting him thoroughly. He didn’t care who saw. At the moment, he didn’t care if the whole school lined up to take pictures and sent them all to Howard at his SI office. “Really,” he said. “Please, baby? Let’s just go, okay?”

Steve stopped frowning, but his face stayed serious. Tony was glad. He liked how serious Steve was about things that mattered. He loved it. “Okay,” he agreed. 

“Good.”

\---

It didn’t take long to get there, but it seemed like a long time. With Steve beside him, and the thought of what could be waiting for them at the end of the drive, it felt like it took forever. Tony was a good driver, calm and collected under even the worst circumstances, but he missed a turn once, and honked his horn angrily when a guy on a bike darted out in front of him. The guy flipped him off and kept going, and Tony grumbled about it for the next four blocks, while Steve smiled a fond, teasing smile in his direction.

That did not help matters.

After at least a month of driving, Tony finally pulled up in front of Steve’s apartment. Tony turned off the ignition, and they both just sat in their seats, not moving, not looking at each other. An undercurrent of something hot and electric hung in the air between them, and when Steve put his hand over Tony’s, he jumped.

“Sorry,” Steve said, but he didn’t take his hand away.

“It’s okay.”

“Do you wanna go in?” he asked. “Or just sit out here for a little while?”

“No. No, let’s go in.”

Steve squeezed his hand and let it go. “‘Kay.”

They got out of the car, and Tony resisted the urge to grab Steve’s hand right away. He wanted to. He thought if he could hold onto Steve, he’d feel a little easier in his head. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It’s not like he’d never been in this position before. He had--at least, up to a point. In California, he’d been a pretty popular guy. He’d had a lot of friends. A lot of girlfriends. A lot of boyfriends. He’d spent time with a lot of people, but here, now, with Steve...it felt different. And he wanted to touch him. Wanted to hold his hand. He thought he’d feel better if he did.

But they were headed inside now, climbing the narrow stairs, Steve going first because there was no way those broad shoulders would allow for Tony to walk beside him, and they went up the first flight, then the second, then the third. 

On the landing, Steve turned to Tony and put a finger to his lips. He pointed at the door and mouthed _Mrs. Perkins_ , then put his finger back to his lips and raised his eyebrows. 

Tony stifled a laugh. The whole thing seemed sweet, and more than a little silly to him, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t really want to help it. He kind of loved that Steve was a bit dorky, and did things like shushing him so that he’d remember to be quiet while passing his nosy neighbor’s door. He loved a lot of things about Steve. He loved _everything_ about Steve. 

He tapped his own finger against his lips and gave him an evil little grin.

Steve shook his head, and beckoned him onward.

When they got to his door, Steve unlocked it and stepped aside so Tony could go in first. Tony looked around, feeling immediately the warm feeling of being home. It was certainly nothing like his own house. It was small but bright, and two of Steve’s paintings were hanging on the wall along with a bunch of framed photographs.

Tony’s parents had never hung photos on the walls. They had a Picasso, and a Dali, and a painted portrait of Maria that Howard had commissioned after she died, but no family pictures. Tony stood in front of them, smiling a little at a tiny, three-year-old Steve sitting in a pile of green Christmas paper, Steve at eight standing astride a bicycle, him as a baby wrapped in a blanket, a dozen others. 

“Don’t look at those,” Steve said in a bashful way that made Tony cock an eyebrow at him.

“Why?” he said. “Don’t you want me to see what a cute baby you were?”

“Shut up, Tony.”

Tony leaned closer to the wall, looking at one last picture he’d missed the first time through. “Is that your dad?” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

Tony studied it--a tall guy, blond, with blue eyes. He wasn’t as broad as Steve, his jaw not quite as strong, but he had the same look of _happy_ that Steve exuded. He had his arm around a woman with Steve’s smile--his mother. “You look like him,” Tony said.

Steve gave him a tight smile. “That’s what my mom says too.”

“She’s right.”

Steve slipped his hand into Tony’s and ran his thumb across his knuckles. “Let’s go to my room.”

Tony nodded. “Okay.”

Steve led him there by the hand, going through the tiny kitchen to a small bedroom tucked behind it. There was room for a bed, a desk, and a bookcase crammed with books, and that was all. It was a quarter the size of Tony’s own room, and was painfully neat while his own was a wild disarray of _stuff_ , but that just made it better in Tony’s opinion. That just made it feel more like Steve, and that, in Tony’s opinion, was the best feeling in the entire world.

Tony put his hand on Steve’s chest, curled his fingers into his shirt. “I like your house,” he said quietly, tipping his face up, his other hand slipped up Steve’s arm to the side of his neck. He touched the cords there, loving the smooth slide of his muscle under his thumb. He urged him down with a gentle touch, and Steve came easily, willingly. 

“It’s not much,” Steve said, the answer a whisper of breath against Tony’s ear. 

“It’s perfect.”

Steve bent his head onto Tony’s shoulder, holding him closer. “Now that you’re here, it is,” he said.

“Steve,” Tony said, and shivered when he felt the brush of Steve’s lips on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, just above the collar of his shirt.

“Is that okay?” Steve asked without lifting his head.

Tony nodded and knotted his hand in Steve’s hair, holding him in place, standing on tip-toe to give him easier access. “Yeah, baby. It’s more than okay. It’s...it’s... _Steve_ ,” he whispered as Steve’s tongue swept across his skin, his breath cooling the slight dampness left in its wake before fire took its place. It was a strange thing, feeling that combination of sensations, so soft and hot and then the scrape of his teeth running gently over the spot. Tony felt his knees weaken a bit, and he was glad Steve’s arms were around him, glad he was holding him up, or he definitely would have fallen.

“Do you wanna study?” Steve asked against Tony’s neck, as they took a step back toward the bed.

Tony shook his head. “No. Do you?”

Steve laughed softly, then kissed his neck again. “Not really.”

“What _do_ you want to do, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve ran his hands over Tony’s back, and slid one up under his shirt so he could touch the skin of his back. “I just want to be close to you, Tony,” he said. “That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Tony could not resist any longer. He lifted Steve’s head and kissed his mouth deeply. Steve’s tongue slipped against his in a tantalizing dance, slow and sensual. Tony drew it into his own mouth and sucked it a little, making Steve moan in the back of his throat. 

Tony pulled back. “Turn some music on, baby.”

“What?” Steve murmured. He sounded almost drugged, and Tony kissed him again. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Music.”

Steve licked his lips. Tony was getting hard in his jeans, and seeing that tongue, that pink, silky tongue, knowing it had been on his own skin not twenty seconds ago, and knowing-- _knowing_ \--that it was going to be on his skin again very shortly was enough to drive him almost mad with want.

“Is that part of the ‘romance’ stuff you were talking about earlier?” Steve asked.

Tony laughed, and sat down on the bed with a bounce. It creaked a little--not much, but enough--and Tony laughed again. “I was kind of thinking about Mrs. Perkins...you know?”

Steve smiled a dark, knowing smile, then turned around and fiddled with a pile of cassettes. Tony watched him, the flex of his muscles, the smooth curve of his back. _Cassettes_ , Tony thought, and couldn’t help the sappy feeling that built up in his own stomach while he watched Steve pick one out, put it into the player, say “Damnit” under his breath, take it out, turn it around, and put it back in. Soon, the sound of The Eagles doing _One of These Nights_ filled the room. Steve turned it up a little.

“This okay?” he said, and Tony nodded.

“Uh-huh.”

“I know it’s a little-”

Tony held out his hand. “It’s just right, baby. Come here.”

Steve came to him and took his hand, but instead of sitting beside him on the bed, he sank to his knees in front of him. Tony’s brain and body both tried to disconnect from reality when that happened, but he forced them back. Forced them to come back to the here and now by sheer force of his tremendous will. 

On his knees, Steve was directly eye-level with Tony. Tony loved that. Loved that, for now at least, they were completely equal. Completely on the same level. Tony touched Steve’s face, his cheek, brushed down the slope of his nose, touched the center of his bottom lip. Steve’s mouth opened obediently at that gentle touch, and Tony let his finger come in contact with the warmth of Steve’s tongue. Steve’s eyes never left his as he gently suckled just the tip of Tony’s finger. 

Tony sighed out a breath. “Steve,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I want you. I want this. You know that, right?”

Steve nodded. His hands rested on Tony’s thighs and slid along them, the denim smooth under his palms. “I know, Tony. Me too.”

“Good. That’s good.” Tony bit his lip, then sighed again. “I’ve never done this before.”

Steve frowned a little, surprise on his face. “What? I thought…?”

“No.”

“With anybody?” Steve asked. “I thought...I heard you had a lot of girlfriends in California...” he began, but Tony shook his head.

“I know what people say. What they think,” Tony said, then shook his head again. “But, none of it’s true. I mean, I’ve had a lot of _friends_ , but we’ve never gotten this far. I never wanted to.”

“How come you let people say stuff about you?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s just gossip,” he said. “Not even Howard cares about high-school gossip.”

Steve scratched his forehead, then ran his hand back through his hair. “You’ve never...anything?”

Tony laughed a little. If it had been anyone else, he thought he might have gotten a little offended by the question. But not here. Not with Steve. “Is that a deal-breaker, Steven?” he asked, and Steve blushed prettily. 

“No,” he whispered, and while his voice was serious, there was a little smile playing around his lips, and another one in his eyes. Along with something else. Something possessive and greedy, something that seemed more than happy that Tony had never gone this far with anyone else. Something that seemed more than happy to be Tony’s first.

“Are you sure?” he teased, putting his fingers back to work, letting them trace Steve’s full mouth again, letting one of them breach his lips, then slipping back out before Steve could do more than tongue at the pad. “I mean, I can go out and get laid by somebody else first, real quick, if you want.” He arched an eyebrow. “You _did_ say Mrs. Perkins was home…”

Steve laughed and leaned in to kiss Tony’s mouth. “I don’t know,” he said. “She’s seventy, but she told my mom she’s been married five times. She might be more than you can handle.”

Tony giggled, clasping his knees tight around Steve’s slim hips. The drag against his cock was almost unbearable. “She might be. I might have to work up to her.”

“So, you’re just using me to get to her? Classy, Stark.”

Tony ran his hands up through Steve’s hair, then drew him closer. He kissed Steve again, then kissed his neck, his shoulder, his hands slid under his shirt and began to inch slowly up, exposing his skin. “Fuck,” he murmured. “You found me out. Gonna have to change plans now.”

“Guess so.” Steve’s hand strayed to the button of Tony’s jeans. He touched it. Slid his finger across it, stopping only long enough to duck out of the t-shirt Tony pulled up over his head. The song changing over-- _I like the way your sparkling earrings lay. Against your skin so brown. And I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight. With a billion stars all around._

“My god,” Tony breathed, looking at him. He let his own fingers run across Steve’s torso, breath quickening as he touched his chest, his abdominals, the v-cut line above his jeans. 

“Tony?” Steve said softly. His finger was still dancing across the small surface of that brass button. 

“Yeah, baby?” Breathless, now. Quickened to the point of extinction.

“I’ve never done this before either.”

Another kiss. Another slide of skin on skin. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

_I get this feeling I may know you. As a lover and a friend..._

The button opens. Finally. Another kiss. Lips. Neck. Chest. Stomach.

_But this voice keeps whispering in my other ear. Tells me I may never see you again._

“Oh, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick word about timelines: Those of you who have read my other stories know I kind of play fast and loose with timelines. I try to keep stuff vague on purpose, just dropping a few hints to sort of get a feeling of about where we are, even though it probably doesn't really matter in terms of the stories themselves. We're probably mid-nineties here for anyone who cares. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Lyrics are from "Peaceful Easy Feeling" by The Eagles. I don't own them. I just borrowed. I did, however, own the very cassette tape they were on. Or, my mom did, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three conversations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little talk-y. But, I guess that's what conversations are.

SEVENTEEN

Steve’s mother had swing shifts all week, so they studied at his house all week.

They actually did spend some time studying. Graduation was coming in a few months and Steve was still worried. He knew he wouldn’t get a full scholarship, but his advisor and Ms. Carter were trying to help him get something from art school that would cover at least part of the tuition, and then he could work for the rest. And there were always loans. The thought of that made him sick, though. He did not want to be buried in student debt the second he was out of school, especially with no guarantee of a job in his field, and the things that Howard had said haunted his dreams. He was terrified that was what would actually happen.

“Maybe I should go into something more practical,” he said during his advisory period. 

Ms. Carter shook her head. “You have a great talent, Steve. You can’t turn your back on it.”

He sighed and fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. It was February, cold, a drizzle of freezing rain hit the window to her office. Tony was supposed to come over one last time tonight before Steve’s mom went back to day shifts next week. He was excited and nervous, his guts in a constant knot that only unraveled now when Tony was finally with him, lying on Steve’s twin bed in a red, lusty haze, music playing just a little louder than usual because Tony tried while Steve knelt between his thighs, but he couldn’t always keep silent, and the thought of Mrs. Perkins below was always present in the back of Steve’s mind. 

Steve was a little better at staying quiet, but when Tony finally had his hands on him--or his mouth--he usually had to bite down on his own hand to do it. Last night, Tony had curled up next to him, still stroking him, bringing him closer and closer to release, and whispered, “I can’t wait until I can hear you scream for me, baby.” Steve had jerked beneath him, the tickle of Tony’s breath against his ear, the sultry sound of his voice, and the promise of his words, sending him up over the edge in a delirious swirl of sensation. He moaned loudly, but Tony caught most of it with his own mouth, swallowing it down in a searing kiss that Steve swore he could still feel on his lips even now sitting in Ms. Carter’s office, eighteen hours later.

He wondered if Mrs. Perkins had heard him anyway--either that night, or one of the other four he and Tony had indulged in--because when Steve got out of bed this morning, his mother was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee, leafing through a magazine.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, coming to kiss her hello.

“Hi, honey.”

“What are you doing up?”

She was usually asleep when he got up for school during her swing-shift weeks, but not today. Today she pointed at the counter where a bag of pastries from the bakery sat. “I brought you a Danish. Sit down and have breakfast with me.”

Steve knew better than to argue. He knew that tone in her voice. It wasn’t angry or upset, but she was feeling serious about something, so Steve just grabbed his Danish, filled a glass with OJ, and sat down in his chair across from her at the table.

“How was work?” he asked, tearing into his pastry.

“It was okay,” she answered. “Long, but pretty quiet. Nothing too serious, thank god.”

“Good. No bad car accidents?”

“No. We’ve been lucky this winter.”

“That’s good.” He took another bite of his Danish, waiting. If she was mad, she would have just come right out and said it. She was a gentle disciplinarian, but she wasn’t shy about it when it had to be done. The way she was being now, plain but friendly, meant she just had something to talk about, so he was quiet, giving her an open moment to do it. 

She took a sip of her coffee and turned another page in her magazine without looking down at it. “Mrs. Perkins came out to say hello on my way to work yesterday,” she said.

Steve smiled inwardly. He knew it. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding “She said you’d had someone over here every day this week.”

Steve shrugged, popping the last bite into his mouth. “Yeah. My friend, Tony. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Sure, it is,” she said, lightly. “Is this the friend you asked about having over before?”

Steve nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Mrs. Perkins said he hasn’t been leaving until ten or eleven,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah. He’s been helping me study.”

“It’s a school night, honey,” she said, and put her hand gently on his wrist. “I know it’s got to be lonely for you here when I’m working swings, but you need to make sure you’re getting enough sleep too. You know how important it is.”

Steve sighed. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t Tony's parents get upset that he's getting home so late?”

“His mom’s dead,” Steve said, “and his dad…” he shrugged.

Sarah looked at him sharply. “His dad what?”

He sighed again and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Tony says he’s fine, that he’s just kind of gruff. That’s probably all it is. I don’t know.”

“Have you met him?”

“Yeah. Once, a few months ago.”

“And what did  _ you _ think about him?”

“I thought he seemed mean.”

Sarah’s hand tightened on his wrist. Her eyes had gotten very dark. “Violent?”

Steve thought about it, then shook his head slowly. “I was afraid of that at first, but now I don’t think so. I don’t know if he cares enough about Tony to get violent with him. I think he mostly cares about himself. But I think he probably says stuff sometimes. Not very nice stuff.”

“How old is Tony?”

“He’ll be eighteen on May 29th.”

She relaxed a little, her fingers easing their grip. “Is he going away to college?”

“Yes. He's going to MIT.”

She smiled softly. “Wow. Smarty.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah. He is, Mom. He’s like a genius. And he’s really nice. And funny. And even Sam likes him. And-”

She laughed and squeezed his wrist again. The seriousness was gone. Steve was fine with that. He didn’t mind the serious talks, but it was nice when they were over too. “Well, I think we should have Mr. Smarty over for dinner some night soon. Don’t you?”

“You won’t call him 'Mr. Smarty', will you?”

She laughed again. “No.”

“‘Kay.” 

“You should get ready for school. You’re going to be late.”

He drank his juice while she watched, her eyes light and filled with love, just like they were every time they were on him. He took his glass to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the drainer. “Is that all she said?” he asked. “Mrs. Perkins? Just that Tony had been here?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered. “Why? Is there something else I should know?”

“Nah,” he scoffed. “I was just wondering how come she didn’t mention the drug dealers and call-girls.”

“Steven Grant Rogers!” she scolded, a grin--almost identical to his own--on her lips.

“I guess you’d better tell her about them, huh, Mom?” he teased. “Just so she’s got the whole story?”

“Actually, devil-child, I told her it was none of her damn business who you had over here,” she said. “But if you’re going to act that way, maybe I should hire her as your babysitter.”

“Sounds like she already is.”

Sarah reached over and gave him a light swat on the ass. “Go to school.”

He leaned over her chair, hugged her, and kissed her cheek with a loud smack. “‘Kay. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too. And don’t forget to invite Tony for dinner.”

He looked out the window of Ms. Carter’s office now, thinking about that, watching the rain spit against the glass. He could see the parking lot beyond it, but not Tony’s car. It was on the other side of the building. He wished he could see it, though. It might steady him a little.

“Why are you thinking about changing your focus now?” she asked, frowning.

Steve shrugged. He was frowning too, his fingers still working the edge of his sweater. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I’ve just been thinking that maybe art’s not, you know, sustainable. As a career. Like, maybe, it won’t-- _ I _ won’t--be able to support a-” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Ms. Carter made a soft noise of understanding.

“Support a family?” she suggested softly.

Steve shrugged again. “Or whatever. I guess.”

Ms. Carter patted his wrist. “I wish I could give you a guarantee, Steve,” she said. “I can’t. But I  _ can _ tell you there are no guarantees with any career path.”

Steve sighed. “I guess not. It’s just...school is a lot of money. And some careers are more of a guarantee than others.”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s true. But don’t give up yet. Alright? Let’s think about this before you make any final decisions.”

Steve nodded reluctantly, and stood up. “‘Kay. Thanks, Ms. Carter. You’re the best.”

“You are meant for something great, Steve,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

Steve smiled, thinking about Tony. “I hope so. Thanks again.”

Tony met him at his locker, and they walked out together. Steve let his fingers brush occasionally against Tony’s as they walked. To anyone watching, it would have looked accidental, but both Steve and Tony knew that it was anything but. It was a secret thing. Just between them.

They got into the car, and Tony turned the heat on, banishing the cold. Steve looked out the icy window, not really seeing anything, still replaying his conversation with Ms. Carter in his head.

“You okay, baby?”

Steve turned to look at him. His eyes were serious and concerned, and Steve fell a little more in love with him, if that was possible. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay. Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head, and even though they were still in the parking lot and anyone could see, he took Tony’s hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Tony said, and raised Steve’s hand to his lips. “Tell me.”

“Later. Okay? Let’s just go home. I just wanna be with you, okay?”

Tony brushed Steve’s hair back behind his ear. “That sounds so good,” he said.

Steve leaned into his hand a little. “Yeah, it does.”

“Let’s do it,” Tony said, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Steve was quiet while Tony drove, just sitting in his seat, holding his hand, listening while Tony chattered, jumping from one subject to the next the way he always did when he drove, letting the sound of his voice lull him. Steve was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending like Tony was just his friend. He’d do it, because it was what Tony needed, but the longer it went on, the more he realized it was something he couldn’t do for much longer. He wanted to be able to hold Tony’s hand when they walked down the street as well as when they were in the car. He wanted to be able to hug him while standing in line for a movie, and tell him he loved him wherever and whenever he wanted to. He’d been thinking about it for a long time now, and talking with his mother this morning, and Ms. Carter this afternoon, just made it all the more real to him. This wasn’t just some high-school crush for him. He wanted Tony in his life for a very long time. He wanted him in his life forever.

When they got to Steve’s building, they climbed the stairs together. Tony waggled his fingers at Mrs. Perkins door when they got there, and Steve laughed silently, slightly distressed, and grabbed his hand to stop him in case she was--probably,  _ definitely _ \--looking out at them. Tony tried to duck away from him, and then jumped up on his back as a compromise. Steve blushed dark red, but carried him up the last flight, loving the feeling of his weight, the feeling of him pressed up against his back, his chin resting on his shoulder. He was heavy, but Steve thought he could have carried him another ten flights if Tony just kept breathing in his ear, and playing with his hair the way he was doing right now. 

And then Tony started kissing his neck, and he lost his train of thought all together.

“Stop it,” Steve laughed. “I’m gonna drop you if you keep that up.”

“You won’t drop me,” Tony said with utter confidence, and then sunk his teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“I am.”

Steve stopped at his door. “Hang on,” he said, and hitched Tony up a little, so he could wrangle his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door. Tony held on, riding out the movements with ease, letting Steve do the work, while he continued to run his fingers through his hair, and nibble occasionally at his ear and his neck, and everywhere else he could reach with that mouth.

“Bedroom,” Tony murmured in his ear when the door finally popped open, and Steve got them inside.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Bedroom.” He kicked the door closed, and carried him through the kitchen to the bedroom. 

When he got to the bed, he turned around, and Tony finally let go and fell back onto the bed, laughing. Steve took his coat off, threw it in the corner, then crawled over Tony’s body, pinning him in place, kissing his stomach, his shoulder, his lips. Tony hooked his ankles around Steve’s waist and wrapped his arms around his neck, letting him take over.

“Are you going to put music on, baby?” Tony asked, arching into Steve’s mouth.

“Mmm. Guess I’d better,” he said. “Mrs. Perkins talked to my mom. Tattled on us.”

Tony pulled back, “What?”

Steve huffed out a soft laugh. “I told you she would.”

“Rude.”

“Nah. She’s not,” Steve said, and rolled onto his side, facing Tony. “She’s just old, and lonely, and doesn’t have anything better to do than spy on the neighbors.”

Tony slipped one hand up through Steve’s hair, then let his finger trail down the slope of his nose to his lips. “You’re so nice,” he said. “Why are you so nice?”

“I don’t think I’m so nice.”

“You are, though,” Tony said, and kissed him.

Steve let him linger, then sighed, lying back. “My mom wants you to come for dinner,” he said. “And I don’t think she’ll take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Tony curled up next to him and put his head on Steve’s broad chest. “Does she know?” he asked, smoothing his fingers down over his chest and side. “About us?”

Steve nodded. “I’m pretty sure she does.”

“Is she okay with it?”

“I kind of think that’s why she wants you to come to dinner.”

Tony turned his head and kissed him over his heart. “So she can make sure I’m good enough for her little boy?” he asked in a teasing way.

Steve shook his head. “No. I think it’s so I can see that she  _ is _ okay with it.” He curled his arm around Tony, and used his finger to tip his face up so he could look into Steve’s eyes. “Are  _ you  _ okay with  _ that _ ?”

Tony smiled a little, and ran his hand back up Steve’s side. “Let me get this straight,” he said seriously. “You’re asking me if it’s okay that your mother wants to show us that it’s okay? Is that what you’re asking me?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed again softly, and pressed his forehead against him. “God, you’re adorable,” he muttered, then rose up to kiss Steve’s mouth. He traced his lips with his tongue.

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Yeah, baby. I’m okay with that.”

“Good,” Steve said, and kissed him again deeply, licking into his mouth, and running his hands over his back, his arms. After a moment, he stopped, and pulled back a bit. “She, um, she doesn’t know about this part, though.”

“Which part would that be?” Tony asked innocently. “The part where you’ve been defiling me in her home every night for the past week? Would that be the part you’re referring to?”

Steve flashed him a guilty grin, Tony’s favorite blush creeping up onto his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said. “That would be the part.”

“I guess we can keep that part between us,” Tony said, flicking his tongue against Steve’s mouth. “Well, between us and Mrs. Perkins. ‘Cause I’m sure  _ she  _ knows about it. Doesn’t she?”

Steve laughed. “Probably. You’re pretty loud.”

“You should be proud,” he said, slipping his arms around Steve’s neck. “I’m silent as the grave when I’m jerking off at home.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Steve said.

“Come watch sometime. You’ll see.”

“Maybe I will.”

“God, that’d be so hot,” Tony said, and kissed him again. He crawled on top of him, straddling his hips, a knee on either side, then rose up and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Steve reached up, trailing his fingers over Tony’s chest, his stomach, hooked them in the top of his jeans. 

He gazed up at him, love and lust shining in his eyes in equal measure. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

Tony leaned down, pressing against him, and whispered in his ear, “Don’t say things like that.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “I wanna say things like that,” he said. “I wanna say it all the time. Whenever I feel like it.”

Tony sighed, nuzzling into his ear. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and kissed his bare shoulder. “Maybe...maybe if-”

“If what?”

Steve tightened his grip on him. “Maybe if we tried again with your father…?

Tony stiffened against him.”Steve-”

“Maybe if we told him my mom was okay with it...and asked him to come to dinner too, maybe-”

Tony sat up, pulling out of Steve’s arms. He ran a hand through his hair. “It won’t matter,” he said, his voice frustrated and hurt. “I told you, baby, he’s a dick. It won’t matter what me, or you, or your mother says.”

“But we could try-”

Tony climbed off Steve’s lap, and crossed the room. He picked up a stack of cassettes and shuffled through them. He kept his back to Steve. The rain on the window printed shadows on the sharp planes of his bare back. 

Steve sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He could see Tony was upset, but he needed to talk about this, at least for a minute. “Why does he hate me?” he asked quietly. “He doesn’t even know me.”

Tony’s shoulders fell, his head fell back. “He doesn’t hate  _ you _ , Steve,” he said, without turning around. “He hates the...whole thing. It’s not personal.”

_ That will get him a good job waiting tables someday… _

Steve looked at his hands. “It feels personal.”

“It’s not.”

Steve nodded, even though Tony couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he said faintly.

They were quiet, the only sound, the rain on the window, and then Tony tossed the cassettes down on the desk. He turned around, came back to the bed, and put his arms around Steve’s neck. He folded him into his arms, holding him like he never wanted to let him go. “I don’t want to do this right now,” he said into the side of his neck. “I don’t want to fight with you.” He kissed him, once, twice, three times.

Steve’s arms came up around Tony’s waist, his head fit perfectly in the nook of his shoulder. “I don’t want to fight either.”

“I know you don’t like sneaking around. I’m sorry.”

“It feels like lying.”

“I know. I know, baby. But it won’t be forever. I promise.”

Steve kept his face hidden in Tony’s shoulder. He could feel tears welling up in his throat, and he didn’t want to let them fall, but he was afraid--so, so afraid--that they were going to come no matter what he did. He’d been holding them in over this for a long time. He didn’t want to hurt Tony. Didn’t want to make him feel bad, especially over this. Because this was no more his fault than it was Steve’s. He swallowed, trying to get rid of them, and he succeeded--for the moment.

“I just-” he swallowed again, “-don’t want to feel like you’re embarrassed of me.”

Tony looked at him, his face stricken. “Oh god, baby, no,” he said, kissing him. “No. No, no, no. I could never be embarrassed of you.” He kissed him again, squeezing him in his arms tightly. “Never. You’re the best thing I have.”

“You’re the best thing I have too,” Steve sighed. “I just want to make sure I get to keep you.”

Tony laughed against his lips. “That’s crazy,” he said. “Of course, you get to keep me. I’m yours, aren’t I?” Steve looked up at him, his eyes unsure, but filled with hope. Tony gave him a shake. And then a kiss. “ _ Aren’t I _ ?”

Steve smiled at him. The tears had retreated. He was glad. “I hope so.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You hope so?” he asked, and melted into him. “You dummy. I’ll be yours forever.”

Steve held him recklessly tight. “Forever?”

“Forever and ever.”

Steve dipped his head into Tony’s shoulder and pressed a kiss there. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter up in a few days, I hope.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more drop of sweetness before the storm comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It kind of seems like a lot of bedroom scenes. But, if this goes the way I imagined it, there are going to be a lot of bedroom scenes.

SEVENTEEN 

“They called my house again last night.”

Steve looked up from his books, frowning a little. “Who called your house again last night?”

Sam laughed. “Do you listen to anything I say? Am I even here? I know you really only listen when loverboy is--”

Steve kicked him. “Shut the fuck up, and tell me who called your house.”

“The Army."

Steve nodded. “Oh. Right.”

They were sitting outside, the sun shining down on their backs while they studied in the school quad. The cold had finally broken, and now, in mid-April, the trees were starting to turn green and spring flowers were blooming. Steve drew in a deep breath. He felt good, in spite of the news Sam had just told him. He’d been starting to go a little stir-crazy, staying inside all winter long--not to mention his worries over money, and what he was going to do about Howard Stark--and sitting outside in the fresh air with his best friend, smelling the salt from the ocean and the apple blossoms from the trees filled him with renewed hope. Howard couldn’t stay mad at him forever. And even if he did, Tony would be graduating in a month and moving to Massachusetts to go to school, and then it wouldn’t matter anyway. Steve still wanted to make it right with him, to find a way to make it so they could at least be in the same room together, but that could come later if it had to, he supposed. He’d give in eventually. Tony was sure of it. Steve just tried to trust him and be sure of it too.

“They must want you pretty bad,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess. They’ve called a lot. The National Guard did too, but the guys from the Army just laughed when I told them that. They said they had a lot more to offer than the _National Guard_.”

“Are you really thinking about joining?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. They make it sound pretty good. Full college tuition paid. On-the-job training. Salary. ‘See the world, kid’. You know. It might not be so bad.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot going on in the world. The Middle East. What if you have to go to war?”

Sam nodded. “That’s what my mom said too.”

“Your mom _is_ one of the smartest people in the world.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, then cocked his head. “But, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. My grandfather was in the Army. My dad wasn’t, but my uncle went into the military too. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Plus, then my parents could add my college fund to my sister’s. If they did that, they wouldn’t have to take out any loans for her at all. She’d be taken care of completely.”

Steve nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I guess that’s true,” he murmured. “How long do you stay in? To get the tuition thing?”

“Three years,” Sam answered. “But if you stay in longer, they pay more.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Steve looked down at his hands. They were long-fingered. Finely-made. Strong. He’d been looking at them his entire life. Watched them grow and change over the years, just like the rest of his body. He’d seen them holding pencils, pens, paintbrushes. Seen them folding laundry, and washing dishes. Seen them held inside his mother’s hands. Seen them caress the silken skin of Tony’s stomach. Funny, he’d never thought about them holding a gun before. Never thought of them as a _weapon._

“For anybody?” he asked. “Do they do that for anybody, or do they have to find you and recruit you like they’re doing to you?”

“I think it’s for anybody. I think you just have to fill out some-.” Sam looked up from his own books, his eyes suddenly filled with a deep worry. “Steve-” he began. 

“Hey guys.”

Steve looked up and everything else fell away, relief and happiness compounded on his face the second Tony was in front of him. “Hey. There you are.”

“Here I am.” He threw himself down on the bench, tossing his bag down on top of Steve’s backpack, and edged closer to Steve. Steve’s hands itched to latch onto him and drag him into his lap, itched to settle on his waist, or run restlessly through his hair, but he did none of those things. Tony had been a little more free with his affection while out in public lately, but mostly they were still playing the charade of “just friends”. And Steve still hated it. He kept doing it, though. And he’d keep doing it until Tony told him he could finally give it up and start living his life the way he wanted. The way _they_ wanted. “What are we talking about?”

Steve gave Sam a warning look, flashing pleading eyes at him. “Nothing,” he said lightly. “Just dumb stuff.”

“Really? Looked pretty serious when I came up,” he said, and looked at Sam. Sam, not Steve, as if knowing who would tell him something closer to the truth in this situation. “Really. What’s going on?”

 _Don’t,_ Steve’s eyes said plainly. _Please don’t._

Eyes still on Steve’s, Sam said, “We were just talking about how fast Superman would have to fly to reverse the Earth’s rotation.”

Tony laughed. “Oh. So actually ‘dumb stuff’,” he said, and casually rested one hand on Steve’s knee. “You know, we were talking about that once in California in my Physics class. We figured he’d have to travel almost the speed of light--like six hundred-sixty _million_ miles per hour--to do that. But then he’d have to deal with all kinds of paradoxes and time-travel issues…”

“Maybe it would be best if he just _didn’t do it_ then,” Sam emphasized. His eyes were locked on Steve’s.

“Maybe he has to,” Steve said.

“Maybe he should think about it before he does anything stupid like that.”

“Maybe he’s tired of thinking.”

Tony smiled and laughed a confused little laugh. He tightened his grip on Steve’s knee. “Okay, you guys are either talking about something else, or you are _way_ too into this superhero shit.”

_Sam. Please._

Sam sighed. “We’re way too into this superhero shit,” he said, and Steve gave him a grateful smile. “Although,” he went on, turning his eyes to Tony, “ _you’re_ the one who knew the answer, so you’re just as bad.”

“I knew the answer because of _science_ , Wilson, not because of some made-up guy in spandex.”

“Tony,” Steve said levelly, “you drug me to see that Batman movie three-”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Tony hissed, and Steve and Sam laughed. “Whose side are you on?” Tony grumbled.

Steve wiped his eyes. “Don’t ask me that. I’m not going anywhere near that one.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember you said that.”

Steve inched closer to Tony, wishing deeply and drastically that he could just scoop him up in his arms and kiss him senseless right out here in the open for everyone to see. But the thought didn’t bring too much hurt with it right now. He was feeling too good. He was sitting here with his best friend, and his boyfriend, and the sun was shining, and they were all laughing. It felt too good. It felt like what he wanted for the rest of his life. 

“Sorry,” he said, giving Tony a soft, puppy-dog look out of the corner of his eye.

Tony glared at him, then looked away, trying not to let him see the smile on his lips, and let out a deep breath. He squeezed Steve’s knee again, though, rubbing his thumb along the inner seam of his jeans before finally taking his hand away. Steve felt a burst of triumphant pride in his chest. That felt like a definite win.

“Speaking of dragging people to things they probably didn’t want to see in the first place,” Tony said. “Are you sure you can’t go with me tomorrow? I don’t want to go alone.”

Steve’s faux puppy-dog eyes turned real. One of Tony’s teachers had told him about an exhibit on Mayan engineering, and he wanted to go. Steve felt awful turning him down, but he had to work. He had promised his boss he’d work a double-shift that day to cover for one of the checkers who was having a baby. He’d promised to pay him time-and-a-half for the six hours of overtime, and Steve couldn’t turn it down.

“I can’t, Tony. I’m sorry.”

“Not fair.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, Tony cocked his head in Sam’s direction. He smiled what Steve thought was his most charming smile, and he was glad it wasn’t directed at him or he would have had to call his boss and tell him he was sick or something and couldn’t work tomorrow after all. As it was, Sam was put in the spotlight, and Steve just sat back to see how he was going to get out of this one--or if he’d even try.

“Wilson,” Tony said in a little sing-song voice. “I know _you_ want to learn about the intricacies of the Mayan irrigation systems. Don’t you?”

“Uh…”

“It’s really interesting. And really educational. And while it doesn’t feature any men in tights, there _are_ mummies at the museum. And I’ll even take you down to the dinosaur rooms if you want. I know you love dinosaurs, Sam. Everybody loves dinosaurs.” 

“Uh…”

“Perfect,” Tony said, and turned to Steve. He flashed him “The Smile”. Steve felt his stomach flip over lazily. “What do you say, Steven? You don’t mind if I take your other boyfriend to the museum tomorrow, do you?”

Steve grinned. “Nope.”

Sam sighed. “Guess we know whose side he’s on after all.”

“Pfft,” Tony scoffed. “It’s just ‘cause I let him stick his tongue in-”

“ _Jesus!_ ” Steve barked, clapping his hand over Tony’s mouth. “Tony!”

Tony laughed, his breath a puff of sweet air against Steve’s palm, and pursed his lips to put a soft kiss there, his eyes never leaving Steve’s. They were lit with an impish light that made Steve’s stomach turn over again and again in a string of somersaults. 

Sam watched them for a minute, then shook his head. “Didn’t need to hear that,” he muttered under his breath.

\---

They had fun. 

Of course they did. Sam was a smart guy, good-looking, funny, quick with quips, and quick with a laugh whenever _Tony_ quipped, which was often and well. They both missed Steve’s presence though, and spent the early part of the day pondering what he was doing, or what he would have thought about the exhibit. Neither of them said a word that was less-than-complementary--even as a joke--about the guy they both loved, and that just made the day better. Knowing that the other was just as much a fan of Steve as they were, was more than enough to seal their own friendship, and by noon, they were able to just relax and pay more attention to the Mayans themselves than whether or not the other was truly good enough for Steve Rogers.

Sam--and Tony--really did love dinosaurs, so after they were done with the Mayan exhibit, they went down to the dinosaur rooms and wandered around, talking about how cool the raptors and Tyrannosaurus Rex were. When they finally got tired of that, they got a burger, then, since neither had anything better to do, went to a movie.

Tony dropped Sam off at his place around nine, then drove home feeling really good, replaying the best parts of the day, thinking the only thing that could have made it better was if Steve could have been with them. It was okay, though. He’d call him when he got home. Talk. Tell him about the date he’d had with “the other man”. Ask Steve about his day. Be angry on his behalf about his jerk of a boss, because god knew Steve wouldn’t do it himself. He never did. He needed Tony to do it for him. And he did. He liked doing it. He was good at it.

And after they talked about his boss, maybe Tony could get him to talk about _other things_. 

They’d never done that before. He was hoping tonight might be the night they remedied that situation. That would be the icing on the cake to a really nice day. Lying on his bed, phone to his ear, eyes closed while Steve told him what he wanted to do to him. Steve was shy and sweet, but he was also an animal in bed. He was the perfect combination. The perfect man. Tony’s perfect man.

He parked his car, locked it, and started into the building, still musing about Steve, his cock already stiffening a little just at the thought of him. They’d had a few more afternoons in Steve’s twin bed, and Tony thought they were the best days of his entire life. He loved the sex--really _really_ loved the sex--but what he loved even more was just the being close to Steve part. The parts before and after the increasingly better blowjobs, or the tentative but adventurous fingers or tongue against his backside, were just as good. Just as sexy. Just as romantic. Just as essential as breathing. 

Yeah. Essential. Those moments when Steve was just sitting with him. Just holding him. Just lying with his feet in Tony’s lap while they listened to music or watched some stupid show on tv. They were essential. Steve was essential.

He got in the elevator and rode it up. School was going to be out soon. One month. He could leave now and still be fine. He’d already been accepted to MIT. He didn’t really need to finish out the year, but he would. If he hadn’t gotten with Steve then he wouldn’t have bothered, but he _did_ get with Steve, so he’d stay. He’d stay, and just enjoy the last little while he’d have before becoming an adult. Howard wanted him to intern at SI this summer, but Tony didn’t want to. He wanted to spend the summer with Steve. And Sam. And Nat and Clint. Just hanging around. Going to the movies. Going to Coney Island. Maybe taking a drive up north for a few days. Howard never went to the lake house. Tony could take a bunch of friends up and spend a week and Howard would probably never even know about it. God, that would be nice. A week with his friends _without_ Howard would be more than nice. It’s be a fucking revelation.

He opened the door and stepped through into the apartment. His mind was so preoccupied with sweet thoughts of jerking off to Steve’s deep voice, maybe having a sandwich afterward, that he didn’t even notice Howard sitting on the sofa until he spoke.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Tony blinked, startled out of his little daydream--he was already getting down to business in his head--and finally saw Howard sitting there, perpetual glass of rye in his hand, staring hard at him. 

He looked angry. His face was red, which was nothing new. You couldn’t spend thirty years with your head in a bottle without facing some capillary-bursting consequences at some point. His eyes were shot through with blood, his mouth turned down in a solid line. Sitting there in the silent gloom of the darkened room, he seemed like a harbinger of some frightening future Tony didn’t want to even imagine let alone aspire to.

Tony shrugged, trying not to let Howard see how unsettled he was. “Nowhere. Out.”

Howard took another sip of his drink. “Out?”

“Yeah. Out.”

“With the Rogers boy?”

Tony let out a breath. God. This again? “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, “but no.”

“None of my business? Everything you do is my business.”

“Since when?” Tony snapped. He was over being unsettled and starting to get pissed off. His business? That was a fucking joke. “You’ve never given a shit about who my friends are before. You never cared who I went out with, or who I hung around with. Why is it all of a sudden your business?”

Howard rose to his feet. His eyes--the same as Tony’s, although neither of them ever acknowledged the fact--turned darker. He swirled the last swallow of his drink in the glass before tossing it back at a gulp. He didn’t sway. The man was a veteran drinker. It would take more than a couple glasses of whiskey to put him off-kilter. He pointed a finger at Tony with the hand still holding his glass. It was a familiar gesture. One Tony had seen a million times since he was a kid. “Don’t talk to me that way, kiddo. I’m still your father, and you’re still living under my roof. You’ll treat me with respect. You got that?”

Tony laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Yeah. Really digging that whole ‘respect’ thing. If you were respect _able_ , I might be able to swing it, but-” he threw a hand out in Howard’s direction, gesturing at him sarcastically, “-well, I mean, come on. Look at you.”

Howard raised an eyebrow, and Tony’s stomach clenched. That look was too familiar. He had seen it too many times. Including in the mirror. “You’d better shut your mouth, son. Right now. You’re skating on thin ice.”

Tony laughed again. He was sick to his stomach. Disgusted with Howard, disgusted with himself, disgusted with the whole situation. He hated that Howard still affected him. And the funny thing was, he hadn’t even really _said_ anything. He was just being Howard. Asserting dominance just for the sake of dominating. Just for the sake of appearances, even if it was only to himself. 

In fact, a small part of Tony actually pitied the man. But that didn’t stop him from laughing in his face. Again. Just because he wanted to. Just for the sake of appearances. “Thin ice, huh?” he sneered, and the fact that he heard his father in his own voice made him even more sick. “You’re really dragging out all the chestnuts tonight, aren’t you? You’ve been watching too much nostalgia-tv, dad. That’s Ward Cleaver at his finest.”

Howard took a step toward him. Tony stood his ground. He wasn’t afraid of his father, he never had been, and if he was being truthful--really, honest-to-god truthful--the times Howard stepped menacingly toward him were some of his _good_ memories about his father. He knew it was fucked up beyond belief. He knew it was something that he would never admit to anyone. Not even himself most days. But, when Howard stepped toward him when he was angry was the only time he ever came close to Tony at all, and part of him craved that. Part of him would always crave that. Part of him wanted Howard to step closer and be in the same space with him, and if it couldn’t be out of love or affection, Tony had gotten to a place where he was okay with it being out of anger. At least Howard came close to him then. At least Tony got to meet his eyes. At least Tony got to feel the warmth from his body. At least he got to smell him--a mixture of aftershave and alcohol that would always scream _DAD_ to him. At least he got to have that. And part of him wondered if that was why he acted out as much as he did. To get his father to come closer to him, if only for a moment.

But Howard didn’t know any of those things. If Tony had his way, he never would know. It would be too embarrassing a thing to admit. It would make him too vulnerable in Howard’s eyes. And that was something he could never bring himself to be. 

“What is it about that boy that fascinates you so much?” Howard asked. 

“What is it about him that you hate so much?” Tony threw back, thinking of Steve, thinking of when he’d asked Tony that question himself.

“He’s not good enough for a _Stark_ ,” Howard snapped. “Good god, kiddo, set your sights a little higher.”

Tony let his head fall back and rolled his eyes. “Set my sights higher? God. Can’t you just stop? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m fucking tired-”

“I told you to watch your mouth!”

“Then stop talking about him!”

They stood toe-to-toe, Howard taller, his eyes darker, his anger a palpable thing between them. Tony, slighter, his own eyes bright, sharp. They were like two versions of the same man. A mirror slightly distorted by age and circumstance. 

“I don’t want you spending any more time with him,” Howard said with a deadly patience. “You’re done.”

“You can’t tell me who I can see.”

“No?” Howard asked. “You want to go to MIT in the fall? You want to have any kind of future at all?”

Tony’s face grew harder. The mirror image grew clearer. “What, you won’t pay for it if I don’t stop seeing Steve? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“I can get a scholarship, Dad. You don’t have to pay a fucking dime.”

Howard laughed. Cynical, sarcastic. Too much like Tony’s own for comfort. “I’ve got more strings than you’ve got brains, kiddo. I say the word and you don’t go to school _anywhere_.” He gestured around them at the gracious, beautiful space they were standing in. “All of this? It disappears. It’s gone. Everything you’ve had your entire life. You walk away with nothing. No car, no clothes, no nothing. Maybe your little friend is fine riding the bus, but do you even know _how_?” He laughed again, and Tony’s stomach clenched in on itself. “And maybe you don’t think any of that matters right now, but give it a couple years. Live without for a while. See how long you last.”

Tony took a step backward. He had to. If he didn’t, he was going to throw up, because right now, that scent and closeness that he craved was also making him sick. And wasn’t that the way it always was? The things you loved most were the things most toxic. 

He turned around. He still had his jacket on. His keys were still in his hand. If they hadn’t been, he probably would have just went to his bedroom, but no. There they were, hanging from his fingers, glinting in the light from the lamp, signalling to him a way out, a way to get away. He started for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?"

Tony shook his head. “I-” he began, then shook his head again, and went to the door. The handle was cool, perfect and welcome under his palm.

“Don’t you dare leave this house again, Tony.”

He didn’t stop. He just turned that blissfully cool handle, opened the door, and walked out of the house.

\---

He was tired.

It had been a long day. The six hours of overtime had turned into twelve when another cashier called in sick, and his boss came and asked him if he wanted another shift. Another shift meant another six hours overtime. It was a lot of money for him, a lot of _extra_ money he hadn’t counted on before, and as tired as he was, he eagerly agreed.

By the time he got home at nine, his mother had already left for work. He’d called her and told her he was picking up an extra shift, and she had told him she would leave his dinner in the fridge. Told him she would see him in the morning. Told him she loved him. He said he loved her too.

Steve heated up his dinner in the microwave--meatloaf and mashed potatoes--and scarfed it down while standing over the sink. His mom wouldn’t have liked that, would have wanted him to at least sit down at the table, but she wasn’t here, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, this way, he didn’t have to wipe down the table again. All he had to do was give his plate a quick wash, rinse the crumbs down the drain, and he was done. Easy as pie.

He went into the little bathroom and had a quick shower, washed his hair, and let the hot water run over his body until his sore muscles eased. He thought about jerking off, then decided not to. He had an ear cocked for the phone. He hoped Tony would call him tonight, and if he did, maybe Steve could get him to talk him through it. They had never done that before. He thought it was high time they remedied that situation.

But, if he didn’t, it was okay. He really was tired. They could do it another night.

He got out of the shower, pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, and left the bathroom. He wasn’t really thinking about anything. Just going through the motions of bedtime rituals. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t have to get anything ready for school, but he and his mother usually did a family breakfast Sunday mornings, so he got the coffee pot ready, and set the timer for eight. Mom would be home about then, and she would want coffee with her bacon and eggs. Steve usually opted for orange juice. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. He didn’t like the way it made him feel. Too jittery. Too on edge. Too much for a leisurely Sunday breakfast.

He was checking the fridge for half-and-half and eggs when there was a knock on the door.

Steve turned to look at it, surprise and a slight wariness filling him. No one knocked on their door past ten o’clock. No one really knocked on their door at all, except Mrs. Perkins every once in a while, or the landlord when there was a repair to be made. Not even Sam knocked. Steve had given him a key. He just used that when he came over.

He stepped lightly toward the door, moving silently on his bare feet. He wasn’t afraid, but he was careful. He was a New York boy, careful had been bred into his bones, and looked through the peephole with one eye closed. 

It was Tony.

Steve ran a quick hand through his hair, and threw the door open. “Hey,” he said, happy and puzzled at the same time. 

The corner of Tony’s mouth ticked upward, but the tiny smile didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark and hollow, distracted, barely even meeting Steve’s at all. “Hey.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, reaching for his hand. “What are you doing here so late?”

Tony lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He still wasn’t looking in Steve’s eyes, but he let him take his hand. He gripped it tightly. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just...wanted to see you.”

“Come here,” Steve said, and pulled him closer, into his arms. Tony came and melted immediately against him, tucking his head under Steve’s jaw, letting him wrap his arms around him, letting him hold him close and press a kiss against his temple. “Hey,” Steve said again, running a soothing hand up Tony’s back. “Really. What’s the matter?”

Tony shook his head against Steve’s chest. His hair brushed the underside of Steve’s chin. “It’s stupid,” he said, and laughed a jagged, bitter little laugh. “My dad and I got into a fight.” He clenched his fist into the back of Steve’s t-shirt, holding him tight. “I didn’t want to stay there, so I just. You know. Came here.”

Anger and distress flared in Steve’s chest, but he tamped them both down. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. “He didn’t hurt you?”

This time the laugh was softer, muffled by Steve’s chest as Tony snuggled deeper into him. “Just my feelings a little,” he said. “I’ll heal.”

“What did he say to you?”

Tony raised his head, slipped one arm up around Steve’s neck, and pulled him down to kiss his lips. It was small, conciliatory, but sweet. “Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he said.

“I _do_ worry, though,” he said against Tony’s lips. “I _am_ worried.”

Tony laughed softly. “You don’t have to, though. He just needs to cool down. So do I. Then it’ll be fine.”

Steve tugged his hand. “Come in. Stay here.”

“No,” Tony said, but his face so obviously said he wanted the exact opposite. “I’ll just go to a hotel. It’s okay. I’ve got my credit card. I just wanted to see you for a minute.”

Steve shook his head, tugged his hand again. He didn’t know for sure what Howard had said to him--he felt like Tony always downplayed whatever happened to upset him--but there was no way in hell he was going to send him off to a hotel. Especially alone. Especially this time of night. Especially when he was hurting and sad. “Please?” he said, looking at him from under his lashes. “Tony, please come inside. I want you to stay, okay? If you want to go to a hotel tomorrow, then we can talk about that, but please stay here tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch if you want to be alone, but please stay here. Okay?”

Tony looked uncertain, but Steve thought he would give in. If he’d really wanted to go to a hotel, he would have just done that in the first place. “What about your mom?” Tony asked, and his eyes darted past Steve into the apartment behind him. “Is she asleep? What if she gets mad? I still haven’t met her yet.”

“She won’t get mad,” Steve assured him. “She’s at work right now, anyway. She’s doing a graveyard. She won’t be home until tomorrow, and then I’ll talk to her. It’ll be okay. Don’t worry about that.”

Tony laughed, and it was finally his real, natural laughter. “I _am_ worried,” he said. “If you get to worry, so do I.”

Steve rolled his eyes and hugged him again. Wrapped his arms around his neck and squeezed him very tight. As tight as he could without hurting him. “Well, stop it. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it when you do it, either.”

“Too bad.”

“Guess we’re both just going to have to deal with it, huh?”

“Guess so,” Steve agreed, then kissed the soft lobe of his ear. “Come on. Come in. Are you hungry? If I knew you were coming, I would have saved the meatloaf Mom made. Sorry. But I can make you a sandwich?”

Tony let Steve lead him into the apartment. “No. I’m not hungry. I just kind of want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Steve said. He didn’t let go of Tony’s hand while he locked the door and turned off the lights. He held onto him, and Tony let him hold on. He let him lead him through the apartment to the bedroom, and Steve was glad he let him. Tony knew the way by now, of course, but Steve didn’t want to let go of him just yet. 

When they got to the bedroom, Steve pushed him gently down onto the bed, then pressed his lips to his forehead. He turned to his chest of drawers and rummaged around until he found a t-shirt and sweats and handed them to him. 

“Here,” he said. “You can wear these.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed a bit as he held up the smaller t-shirt. He raised his eyebrows at Steve. “And just who, may I ask, does this belong to, Steven Rogers?”

Steve grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Some guy who spent the night here once.”

“‘Some guy’? _Which_ guy?” Tony asked. “And be careful what you say next. You don’t want _some guy’s_ blood on your hands.”

“Damn. You’re getting pretty possessive, Stark.”

“You’d better believe it.”

Steve laughed. “They’re Sam’s. He’s left so much shit over here, he practically has his own drawer.”

“When do _I_ get my own drawer?”

“I’ll clear one out tomorrow,” Steve said, and bent down to kiss him. “I’ll clear out as many as you want.”

“That sounds good,” Tony murmured, and lay back, pulling Steve on top of him. He ran his fingers through Steve’s blond hair, then fisted it in his fingers and pulled him closer, rising up a bit to meet his mouth.

Steve propped himself up on one elbow so he didn’t completely crush Tony, and kissed him, opening his mouth at Tony’s unspoken insistence, meeting his tongue, letting them move together in a way that had become so familiar and yet was still so thrilling. Tony’s hands moved up his sides, then back down again, slipping under his shirt to touch his bare skin, pulling him closer until Steve’s hips lay flush against him, feeling his growing hardness.

Steve sighed into his mouth. “Tony,” he said. “I’d better go make up the couch.”

“You’re not really planning on sleeping out there, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled. “You came here feeling...sad. And I just-” he began, then hid his face against the side of Tony’s neck, “-I don’t want you to feel...later, you know...like I took advantage of the situation. Of you.”

Tony laughed helplessly, and turned his head until his lips found Steve’s smooth neck. “God, I love you,” he whispered. “You couldn’t take advantage of me, baby. You couldn’t if you tried.”

“I wouldn’t try.”

“I know that,” Tony said, and Steve could still hear the smile in his voice. He was glad. So very glad. “But we can just sleep,” Tony went on. “If that’s all you want to do, that’s fine with me, baby. Just don’t leave me, okay? Don’t leave me alone?”

Steve rolled his body off of Tony’s, but did not move away. He curled himself tightly against his back instead, holding him against his chest. “I’m not leaving you alone,” he said into his ear. “I’ll never leave you alone.”

Tony somehow discovered a way to pull Steve’s arm tighter around himself, and cuddled even closer back against his chest. “That’s nice to hear,” he said. “Sometimes when I’m home, even when Howard’s there, I still feel alone. I never feel alone when I’m with you.”

“I don’t want you to go back with him,” Steve said quietly. 

“I told you we just need to cool off. It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t like the way he talks to you. It scares me.”

Tony sighed out a laugh. “I’m going to tell you again not to worry, okay? He’s a lot of bark, but he’s no bite. I promise.”

Steve kissed the back of Tony’s neck. “Still worried.”

“Come on, baby. He’s my father. I mean, he’s a dick, but he’s not unreasonable.”

Steve said nothing, just held Tony tighter, frowning into his skin. Tony must have felt the tension in his muscles, though, because he reached back and rubbed Steve’s hip with one hand in a soothing, gentle motion. “That was a joke, Steve,” he said. “Laugh at it.”

“I’m not really in a laughing mood.”

“What kind of mood are you in?”

Steve moved closer, as close as he could get. “A beat-the-shit-out-of-Howard-Stark kind of mood,” he muttered.

Tony laughed in the back of his throat. He kept petting Steve’s hip, and bent his neck enough to kiss the smooth skin of his forearm. “You wouldn’t do that,” he chided.

Steve shifted, his muscles tensing even more. “I would if I had to,” he said.

Tony moved, twisting within the circle of Steve’s arms until they were lying face-to-face. He brushed his fingers over Steve’s smooth cheek, over his chin, his jaw, before finally settling against his neck. “You would, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “If it came right down to it, you really would do it.”

Steve nodded. His eyes were serious, his mouth a firm line. He would. He would do anything. Anything. The thought frightened him a little, but it was true. “Yeah,” he said. “I would.”

“I love you for that, baby,” Tony sighed, his fingers pressing into Steve’s skin. “It will never come to that, but I love you for it.” He kissed him gently, tenderly, tasting his lips and teasing his tongue with his own. “I love you so much,” he whispered between kisses. “So much."

“Me too, Tony,” Steve breathed, wrapping his arm tightly around Tony’s waist. “I love you, too.”

Steve pulled him closer, deepening their kisses with a yearning, needy desire. He didn’t want to take advantage of Tony. He didn’t want to hurt him in any way, he loved him far too much for that. All he wanted was to show him how much he meant to him. To give him a physical declaration of just how deep his feelings went. And Tony seemed to want that too. He pulled on Steve’s t-shirt, tugging it fretfully upward, trying to get it out of the way of his questing hands. 

“Baby,” he moaned, latching onto his neck, sucking at it, biting with little nips that stung just the right amount. “I want...I want to…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to.”

Steve sat up, stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner, then helped Tony take his off. When it was gone, he leaned down and kissed his chest, tongued his nipple, bit into his side.

“Make me forget,” Tony murmured, hands clenching into Steve’s hair as he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Tony’s torso. “I don’t want to think about anything but you. Make me forget everything else.”

Steve ran his tongue along the soft skin of Tony’s stomach. He worked the button of his jeans with knowing, familiar fingers. Tony arched into his touch, his breath panting in and out of his lungs as Steve took him into his mouth.

\---

Afterward, they took turns in the bathroom, showering and changing. Steve had never thought about the bathroom before. He’d seen those home-improvement shows where they had giant bathtubs and shower stalls big enough for two, and thought they were ridiculous, but now he wished they had one. He wished he and Tony could both fit in there together. But he just hurried really fast instead.

Tony was lying in his bed when he came back out. His eyes were soft with sleepiness, but he smiled up at Steve and reached for him. “C’mere,” he said. “I want you.”

Steve climbed into bed and laid down next to him again. He kissed his shoulder. His neck. Then lay back on the pillow. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”

Tony pressed back against his chest. “Me too, baby,” he whispered, drowsing in his arms.

“I meant what I said. You can stay here forever.”

“Mmm. I love it when you say ‘forever’.”

Steve kissed his ear and whispered, “Forever, forever, forever.”

Tony laughed, his eyes falling closed as sleep started to overtake him. “Sleepy-Steve is mushy-Steve. I like it.”

“I like it too, Tony,” Steve whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up in a few days. We're almost done with the high school portion of this story. Couple more chapters, then we transition into some of the adulthood stuff.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sweet and the sour...  
> Some snuggles. Howard pays a visit. Steve makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little long. I wanted to get it all out there.

SEVENTEEN 

The sun was shining through the windows when he woke. It lay in a puddle beside him, and he stretched his hand out into it, feeling the warmth of it filling his palm like liquid gold. He smiled a little, his eyes still closed, and sighed. He felt good. Really good. His soft bed. Warm sunshine. Scent of coffee in his nose. Sound of murmuring voices in his ear.

Wait.

Steve opened his eyes, rubbed them, and sat up. He glanced at his clock and saw it was almost nine o’clock. And that meant his mom was probably home. And Tony wasn’t here in his bed with him. And there were voices coming from the dining room.

He got up, ducked quickly into the bathroom where he took a quick pee, washed his hands, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. His mind whirled the entire time, but when he was finished, he felt a little more calm, a little more composed, and he followed the sound of soft voices and laughter into the dining room.

They were sitting at the table, his mother, still in her scrubs, and Tony, wearing Sam’s endearingly still-too-big t-shirt. They both had cups of coffee by their hands. A large book, Steve recognized with a deep internal groan as one of his mother’s scrapbooks, sat between them on the table. He shook his head and came into the room.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Sarah said, noticing him standing in the doorway. 

“Morning, Mom.”

“Look who I found sitting at our table drinking coffee when I came home from work this morning.”

Tony smiled up at him. He looked happy, and Steve’s heart eased a lot more than he thought it should have. “Hey.”

Steve touched his shoulder shyly. “Hi.”

“Did we wake you up?” Tony asked.

“No. Well, maybe, but it’s okay. I needed to get up anyway.”

“Yes, you did,” Sarah said, and Steve came to kiss her cheek. 

“How was work, Mom?”

“Good. Tiring.” 

Steve’s eyes strayed to the book. Of course, it was baby pictures. Of course, they were _naked_ baby pictures. He groaned again much more loudly. “God, Mom. _Why?_ ” He reached past her and tried to close the book, but Tony grabbed it out from under his hand.

“No way, Rogers. We’re only half-way through this one.”

"You already saw the ones on the wall! You don't-”

“He asked to see them, Steve,” Sarah said lightly. She was smiling, obviously enjoying this way too much for Steve’s taste. “And you know the rule: guests get what they want.”

Tony grinned triumphantly. “Ha. I knew I loved her.”

Sarah laughed, and Steve rolled his eyes. It was a dramatic, sarcastic eye-roll, but his insides were turning happy circles. He hadn’t wanted to admit just how nervous the thought of their meeting had been making him. Especially after the little argument he’d had with Tony over talking to Howard again. He hadn’t wanted to push anything. Hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable. But now, he realized just how silly that was, and he had never been more thrilled to feel that way in his life.

“Fine,” Steve grumbled. But it was a very happy grumble.

Sarah stood up, wincing a little, then picked up her cup. “More coffee, sweetheart?”

“Yes please, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Steve?” she said, and nodded to Tony’s cup. 

Steve picked it up, waited until Sarah’s back was turned, then dropped a quick, silent kiss to Tony’s lips. “Suck up,” he muttered, and Tony smiled at him with an evil glint in his eye.

He followed Sarah into the kitchen, leaving Tony looking at his baby pictures, and filled his cup from the pot. He dumped three sugars in it just the way Tony liked, and stirred it with a spoon. When he turned around, Sarah was watching him closely.

“I should have called you,” he said quietly. 

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was late, and Tony was really upset. His dad-”

She took his hand. “I know. He told me what happened.”

“He did?”

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand and looked past his shoulder to where Tony was flipping pages idly. “You were right, having him stay. I’m proud of you for that, but next time--if there is a next time--call me and tell me what’s happening. I don’t care what time it is. Or what I’m doing. Or what _you’re_ doing. You. Call. Me.”

He nodded.

“And _you_ sleep on the couch.”

Steve ducked his head, his cheeks flaming. “Yes, ma’am.”

She put her arms abruptly around him, stretching to reach around his neck, and hugged him extra-tight. “He’s great,” she whispered in his ear, and Steve could hear the smile in her voice.

He squeezed her hard. That relief was back. That happy feeling that he’d had all morning. “He really is, Mom.”

Sarah kissed his cheek loudly, then nodded toward the dining room. “Go on. Take him his coffee. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She gave him a little push, and he went, carrying Tony’s cup. 

\---

After breakfast, Sarah excused herself to go to bed. She’d been up for hours and was sore and exhausted. Steve and Tony flipped through a few more pages of the book. They were to a safer stage now--no more naked baby butt cheeks--and Steve talked a little about some of the pictures. About his mom. About his childhood. He didn’t say much about his dad. He’d died when Steve was five. He hadn’t really known him that well.

When Steve finally closed the cover, Tony volunteered to do the dishes. Steve helped, drying and putting things away, watching with an amused eye while Tony splashed around in the suds like a kid. Steve thought it was pretty obvious Tony had never washed dishes before, but he was glad he enjoyed it as much as he seemed to.

“So,” Tony said when Steve put the last plate away, “how’d I do?”

“Perfect. I knew you were a born dishwasher.”

He slipped his arms around Steve’s waist. “Do I get a gold star?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agreed darkly, and kissed his mouth. “Where do you want it?”

“You are one kinky bastard, Rogers.”

Steve laughed, putting his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. “Quiet,” he said. “I don’t want my mom to know I like it freaky.”

“Yeah. We need to keep that between us.” He ran his hands up and down the broad expanse of Steve’s back and sighed contentedly. “She’s great, by the way,” he said.

Steve laughed again. “She said the same thing about you.”

“She did not.”

“Yeah, she did. Exactly.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

Tony held him tightly. “Well, I don’t know if _she’s_ right, but I know I am. I knew you had to get it from somewhere.”

Steve kissed his shoulder, loving the way he could feel the warmth of Tony’s skin against his lips through the fabric of his shirt. “She was right. You both are. I don’t know what either one of you are doing with me.”

“Shut up. You’re the best one out of all of us.”

Steve gave Tony another squeeze. “I love you.”

Tony laughed softly in his ear. “You’re all snuggly today.”

“I wanna be snuggly every day.”

“That can be arranged,” Tony said, then pulled out of his arms. “Do you want to go be snuggly in your room?” Steve thought about what his mom had said, and thought it didn’t _quite_ apply since it was broad daylight. He nodded, feeling a little shy but still so happy. 

Tony took him by the hand and led him there. They lay together for a long time before Steve fell asleep again. In fact, lying with Tony curled up on his chest, the radio on, breeze coming through the open window, it was a wonder he stayed awake as long as he did.

He did stay awake for a while. Tony told him about the museum. About the Mayans, and the mummies, and the dinosaurs. He told him about going to the movies. He told him how he made Sam laugh so hard Coke came out of his nose and Sam swore at him for five minutes after, wiping his red, streaming eyes with a napkin. Tony tried to mop up his gross mess of soda and now-soggy french fries, but it was almost too hard doing that while trying not to die from laughter himself.

“We, uh, might be banned from that _particular_ McDonald’s now,” he said innocently. “I’m sure we can still go to the others, but I think that one’s off-limits. At least...according to the manager.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you two alone together,” Steve mused, his eyes slipping shut.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to come with us next time,” Tony agreed. “We might need some adult supervision.”

Steve chuckled drowsily. “What else happened? Tell me all the things.”

Tony launched into a story about Sam daring him to duck under the barrier around the T-Rex, and Steve fell asleep to the soothing sound of his voice in his ears, his last thought being how content he was. How happy to have Tony here, in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

He awoke some unknown time later to someone shaking his shoulder gently. Tony muttered something in his sleep, burrowed deeper into Steve’s chest, and was silent again. Steve could feel him breathing against him, and he tightened his grip on him unconsciously, not certain if this was part of a dream or reality, and not wanting to let go no matter which it turned out to be.

The hand shook him again, and a voice said his name-- “Steve.”

He cracked an eye. “Mom?” Sarah was standing beside the bed, and now she leaned over and ran a hand through his hair. She had woken him that way hundreds of times over the course of his life. Why did it seem so ominous now? “Mom, what’s going on?”

Her eyes were dark and still hollow with sleep as she looked down at him. “Honey, you need to get up. Both of you. Tony’s father is here.”

Steve clutched Tony to his chest. Tony muttered again, shifted, quieted. 

“Are you sure it’s his father?” Steve asked. He knew how stupid that sounded, but it seemed insane to think Howard Stark was here, in his house, this very minute. That he had parked his expensive car on the street. That he had climbed the stairs Steve had climbed every day since forever. That he was standing, or even stranger, _sitting_ in his living room. Insane. Almost unbearably insane.

Sarah didn’t seem to think it was a stupid question, though. She looked at him seriously, and nodded her head. “Yes. It’s him. He wants to talk to Tony.”

“No,” Steve said automatically, and Sarah gave him a sympathetic but stern look.

“That’s not our decision to make.”

Steve dipped his face into Tony’s hair, trying to draw strength from his nearness, then shook his head. “He’s sleeping, Mom. I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Steve.” 

He had heard the tone before. She never really yelled at him, or got angry, but sometimes her voice would take on a firm tone, and when that happened, he gave in. Always. Every time. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll wake him up. Just give me a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll go tell him it will be a minute.”

“‘Kay.”

She smoothed her hand over his hair once more, kissed his forehead, then left. When she was gone, Steve touched Tony’s arm, scratched his nails up Tony’s back. “Hey,” he whispered. “Hey. Tony. Wake up for me. I’ve gotta talk to you.”

“Baby?” Tony murmured.

“Yeah.”

Tony clenched his hand in Steve’s shirt, then stretched up to kiss him. His eyes were still closed, his mouth soft and supple with sleep. “I like waking up with you,” he said, then slipped back down until his head was on Steve’s chest again.

Steve took in a deep breath. “Me too, Tony,” he said. “But really. Wake up, okay? There’s something-” he let the breath out in a rush. 

Tony pressed sweet, lazy kisses to his chest. “What is it, baby?”

“Tony-Tony, your dad’s here.”

Tony tensed immediately in his arms. His head shot up, locking eyes with Steve. “What?” he said, and all traces of sleep were gone. Steve missed them. Missed sleepy, snuggly-Tony already.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. Mom just came in and told me he was here.”

“You’re not serious.”

Steve nodded his head.

“He’s here? He’s here in this house?”

“Yeah.”

Tony pushed off his chest and slipped silently across the room. Steve watched as he put his eye to the crack between the partially-closed door and the jamb. “Holy shit,” he whispered, incredulously. “He _is_ here.” He turned back to Steve, a complicated look in his eyes. They were surprised, hurt, and something else. Something that looked hopeful--almost hungry. “What is he doing here?”

Steve sat up, rubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t know. Mom just said he was here.”

“What do I do?”

Steve held out his hand, and Tony came to him and took it, gripping it tightly. “What do you want to do?” Steve asked, his thumb caressing Tony’s knuckles.

He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the door. 

Steve sighed, and for the first time in his life, he felt a sliver of sharp, clean hate slip into his heart. He never would have believed it. Never would have believed it possible. But there it was. Hatred. Hatred for one Howard Stark.

Tony looked back down at him. He missed the hatred, Steve was sure. He was too preoccupied with his own feelings about his father. “You’ll go out there with me, won’t you, baby?” he asked. “You won’t make me go out there by myself?”

Steve put his free hand on Tony’s hip. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he said sincerely.

Tony kissed him hard, still holding his hand clenched in his own. Steve kissed him back. He held his hand, gripped his hip, and kissed him with everything he had. Everything he would ever have.

Tony broke away, and let out a breath. “‘Kay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Steve stood up, and they went to the door.

Tony dropped his hand when they reached it.

“Hey, Dad.”

He was standing near the front door, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Sarah sat on the arm of the couch. She was wearing sweats and one of Steve’s father’s old, faded t-shirts that she only wore to bed. It was huge on her, hanging down almost to her knees, but even in such casual attire, she still held herself with a dignified tilt to her head, her shoulders up and back, sitting like a queen on the arm of their ancient sofa like it was a throne. Her eyes were on Howard Stark, calmly assessing. At the sound of Tony’s voice, both turned their heads to look at him.

“Hello, son,” Howard said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to bring you home.”

“Sweetheart?” Sarah said quietly. “Would you like some privacy?”

Tony shook his head immediately. “No, Mrs. Rogers. I want you to stay.” He looked over his shoulder. “Steve? Stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony gave him a smile. Steve wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to make matters worse, and Howard was looking at him now, looking at him the same way he had looked at him in Tony’s bedroom that first day.

Then he looked back at Tony. “Son. It’s time we went home.”

Tony stuck his hands in his back pockets. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Get ready. The car’s downstairs. We’ll have a talk when we get home.”

Steve stood listening, watching Tony’s indecision, the way he bit his lip nervously, the way his shoulders tensed. Steve moved to his side, gripped his upper arms gently, and turned him slightly so he could look into his eyes. “Tony,” he said earnestly, “you don’t have to go with him.” His eyes moved to Howard, swept him stonily. Howard gazed back, and Steve looked at Tony again. “I’ll take care of you.”

Tony eased in his grip, eyes shining with a bright, brilliant love that was like looking at the stars on a cold, clear, winter night.

“Tony,” Howard said. “I may have been a bit hasty about some of the things I said last night.”

Tony tensed again, and when he looked away, Steve felt the delicate shell of his heart crack just a little. Not much. Just a little. Just enough to really really hurt.

“Hasty?” Tony asked. “What things were you hasty about?”

“Come with me and we can talk about it. Calmly. Rationally.”

Tony’s face softened. The crack in Steve’s heart widened a little more. The hurt got a little sharper. “Tony?” he said, and he hated the pleading tone, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t.

Tony looked back at him, and Steve could see his mind was made up. He’d already decided. He’d already made his choice. Steve let go of his arms and let his hands fall to his sides. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony said softly. “I’ll be okay.”

Steve looked down at his feet. He couldn’t bear to look at Tony anymore. To look at that face and know he was leaving, going back to that house with that man. He nodded silently.

Tony moved past him and went to Sarah. He dropped into her arms, and Steve saw out of the corner of his downcast eye the way she caught him just the way she always caught Steve himself. She held him, rocked him a little unconsciously, and he locked his arms around her neck, holding on tight.

“You come to us anytime you need to, sweetheart,” she said loudly enough for Steve--and Howard--to hear. “You’re _always_ welcome here. Any time of the day or night.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Rogers,” Tony said. She held him at arms’ length, then drew him close and kissed his cheek. 

“I mean it, sweetheart. Anytime.”

Tony nodded.

“Tony,” Howard said. Up until now, his voice had held nothing but quiet assurance, but now it was beginning to sound impatient. 

Tony ignored him and came back to Steve. He took his hand, and even though his heart was breaking, Steve held it tightly. Tony chased his eyes, and Steve finally let them be caught again. Tony smiled at him, and Steve tried to smile back. 

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” Tony said.

“Okay.”

Tony brought his hand up and laid it against the side of Steve’s neck, touched his bottom lip with his thumb, then trailed it over his chin. Steve smiled more naturally then. His heart didn’t heal, but the cracks didn’t get any deeper either. “I love you,” Tony mouthed, with barely a whisper of sound, but Steve still heard it. And maybe some of those cracks healed a little, after all.

Steve put his hand on Tony’s hip, squeezed it with his fingers. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Son. The car’s waiting.”

Tony closed his eyes wearily, then opened them again, rolled them slightly, just so Steve could see, then said, “Okay, Dad.”

Steve squeezed his hip again, wishing mightily that he could kiss him. That he could just take him back to bed and lie down with him again. Wrap his arms around him and never let him go. Instead he said, “Talk to you later.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you.”

“‘Kay.”

And then he was gone.

He slipped out of Steve’s hand and left the house without looking at Howard, just shrugged past him and out the door, grabbing his jacket from the hook on his way out. Howard stood there for another moment, glancing around the small apartment. Steve saw his eyes light on the photos on the wall, the handmade curtains, the worn-in furniture. He looked at Sarah and nodded. “Mrs. Rogers,” he said.

“Mr. Stark.”

He looked at Steve last. Last and longest. His eyes moved over him, his face unreadable. “Steven.”

Steve didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded instead, and Howard followed Tony, pulling the door shut behind him.

Steve and Sarah stayed where they were for a moment, Sarah on the couch, Steve standing by his bedroom door. He could still feel Tony under his hand. Still feel the warmth from his body. But it was fading. Fading.

“So, that’s Howard Stark,” Sarah said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” she mused. “But I don’t think it was that."

“I know.”

She looked at him. Steve could feel her eyes, and he finally looked back. “He’ll be okay, honey,” she said. “He wasn’t afraid. I watched very closely. He was surprised, but not afraid.”

Steve sighed. Nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to go with him. He wanted to.”

“Yes.”

Steve's gaze turned troubled. “Why did he want to, Mom?”

Sarah lifted one shoulder in a shrug. It was very much like Steve’s own. It should be. He’d gotten it from her. “He’s his father,” she said simply.

Steve nodded again. It was enough, he supposed. It had to be. There was no other answer but that plain and simple one.

Sarah stood up suddenly and came to him. She put her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go to a movie,” she said decisively. “It won’t do either of us any good to sit here all day thinking about it. Let’s go out.”

Steve couldn’t help the tiny smile that surfaced on his lips. “You should go back to bed, instead. You look tired.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll just lay there and dwell. I want to go see a movie.”

Steve put his head on her shoulder. He felt her hands lace together behind his back. It was familiar, that feeling. It was one of his favorite feelings. “Okay, Mom,” he said. 

She held him for a little longer. He let her hold him. That was one of his favorite feelings too.

\---

Steve missed Tony’s call. 

They went out to dinner after the movie, and he missed it. 

Steve stood over the answering machine and played the message he left. He sounded happy. Easy. Steve touched the flashing light on the machine while he spoke, caressing it with the pad of his finger. “Baby, hey, where are you? If you’re screening, pick up... ‘Kay, fine, don’t pick up. My dad and I had a talk and everything’s okay. Okay? But I won’t see you for a few days. We’re driving over to MIT tomorrow to look at housing options, then I’ll probably hang around campus for a little while. Maybe sit in on some classes. Dad has to come back Tuesday, but I probably won’t be home ‘til Thursday morning. I’m gonna look at apartments. _Single_ apartments, baby. You know. _Single_?” He laughed, and Steve smiled at how happy he sounded. “Anyway, I’ll see you Thursday, okay? I lo...um. Is this Mrs. Rogers listening to this, or Steve? If it’s Mrs. Rogers, hi! If it’s Steve, we should probably come up with a code word for ‘I love you’. Maybe if I say ‘buffalo’ or ‘mitosis’ or something then you’ll know what I mean so we don’t embarrass your mom.” Steve smiled again. “So, anyway, buffalo. See you Thursday.”

Steve laughed a little. “Buffalo.”

\---

Since Tony wasn’t home, Steve told his boss he could work a shift on Tuesday and Wednesday. He skipped his last class and went in to work at two. He stocked shelves, bagged groceries, helped carry things out to people’s cars. It was easy work. He enjoyed it for the most part. His boss, happy that Steve had decided to come in, was even pleasant. He even told a joke. Steve laughed longer and louder than he normally would have. Just to make him happy. 

On Tuesday, he left at eight and caught the bus home. He ate dinner, then went to bed, wondering what Tony was doing. Hoping he was having a good time. That MIT was everything he hoped it was going to be.

On Wednesday, he was stocking shelves when his boss came over to him. Steve was kneeling on the floor. He wasn’t stocking tomatoes this time--it was boxes of cereal--but he was still reminded of the day months ago when Tony had come and stood over him just the way his boss was doing now. 

“Rogers.”

Steve looked up. “Yeah, Mr. Barker?”

He glanced almost nervously over his shoulder, then back at Steve. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Who?”

“He said his name was Howard Stark.”

Steve’s mind went blank. For a moment, he was once again back on the floor with that can of tomatoes. He looked down at his hands--just in case--but the Lucky Charms leprechaun was grinning cheekily up at him, promising that his breakfast was going to be magically delicious. It wasn’t tomatoes. It wasn’t. 

“Are you sure he said Howard Stark?” he asked, the fact that he had asked his own mother almost that very same question three days ago, not lost on him.

Mr. Barker nodded. He looked back toward the front of the store. He still looked nervous. “That’s what he said, Rogers.” He frowned down at Steve. “He’s not _the_ Howard Stark, though, is he?” he asked. “Not the Stark Industries, Howard Stark?”

Steve stood up slowly. He put the last box of Lucky Charms on the shelf. Straightened it so it was in line with the others. “Um. It might be.”

“What the hell would Howard Stark from _Stark Industries_ be doing here to see _you_?”

Steve shrugged. He couldn’t seem to look away from that leprechaun. He kind of wished he could find the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow right now. That gave you wishes, right? If so, his first wish would be that his boss would just shut the fuck up and let him think. “I don’t really know,” he said.

“Don’t you think you should go find out?”

“Maybe. Where is he?”

“I took him to my office. He requested somewhere private.”

Steve gestured to the rack full of cereal boxes. “But...I’ve gotta-”

“Christ, Rogers, just _go_. I’ll stock the cereal.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.” He stooped one last time and gave the box a final nudge into place, then retreated slowly down the aisle. He was acutely aware of people looking at him...but that might have been his imagination. Surely, Mr. Barker didn’t tell everyone in the store that Howard Stark had come to see lowly little Steve Rogers. How could he have? Steve certainly hadn’t heard the intercom system making an announcement. And even if he had, how many people _actually_ knew who Howard Stark was? Sure, they might know his name--he’d been on television and in the newspapers plenty of times before--but even Steve hadn’t really known who he was. He was just one of those names that got thrown around occasionally when they talked science on the news. Just one of those faces that showed up and then was gone again--familiar, but not really known. In fact, until Tony came back into his life, whenever he’d seen a picture of Howard in the newspapers, Steve had assumed he was a politician. Just one more guy making the decisions that ran the world.

And now, walking up to Mr. Barker’s office, it seemed ironic to him just how right that assessment had been.

He took a deep breath before he went into the office. Ran a hand through his hair. He thought about taking his apron off, then decided against it. This was his job, after all. It was his uniform. If Howard wanted to come to his place of business to conduct whatever business _he_ had, he could take Steve like this. Red apron and all.

He put his hand on the knob and turned it. 

Howard Stark--yes, _the_ Howard Stark from Stark Industries--was sitting on the chair behind Mr. Barker’s cluttered desk. He smiled at Steve. “Come in,” he invited. 

_Said the spider to the fly_ , Steve thought fleetingly, and went in. He closed the door.

“How are you, Steven?” Howard asked when he was inside. “Sit down.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m fine.”

A tight smile flitted over Howard’s features. “Mr. Barker’s chairs aren’t very comfortable,” he said. “I don’t blame you.”

Steve said nothing. He just stood in the doorway. He was frowning. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that he was scared, either. He had never been alone in a room with Howard before. He’d never been alone in a room with a shark before either. He thought they might feel about the same.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Howard said.

“Yeah. I am.”

He crossed his legs, pinching the crease of his suit pants expertly to preserve it even while he sat. “Tony’s at the MIT campus right now,” he said.

“I know. He called me.”

“Did he tell you that we spoke?”

Steve nodded. “He said everything was okay.” His frown deepened. He swallowed. It seemed like a sign of weakness, but it happened before he could stop it. He knotted his hands together behind his back. He wanted to keep them out of sight. If they shook--which they undoubtedly would by the end of this conversation--that would be a sign of weakness too. He could at least control that. He had to. “But everything’s _not_ okay, is it?”

“As far as Tony knows, everything is fine,” Howard said. He leaned back in Mr. Barker’s chair. Whenever Mr. Barker did that, it looked like it would fall over, but not now. Not with Howard Stark sitting in it. Steve got the idea that that chair would never _dare_ tip Howard out onto the ground. It would never dare let anyone so important look so undignified. “I withdrew my objections to the two of you spending time together,” he went on. “I told him I would pay for his college education. His room and board. His car. His allowance would stay intact.” He gestured with one manicured hand. “Whatever else he needs. Or wants. Within reason. Just as I have always done.”

It all sounded like good news. Steve could see why Tony would think it was. Because it sounded like Howard was giving Tony exactly what he wanted. “But?” he said. Because there was a “but”. Of course there was.

Howard smiled. On the surface, it seemed charming. “As far as Tony knows, there is no ‘but’. As far as Tony knows, that’s the end of the story.”

“But it’s not, right?” Steve pressed.

“Not exactly.”

“So, what is it? What’s the ‘but’?”

Howard eyed him speculatively, watching him with a predator’s eye. “Do you know what my objection to you is, Steven?”

Steve shook his head. He kept his hands clenched behind his back. He was right. He could feel them starting to shake, and he was glad he had them hidden. “No, sir,” he said. “I thought it was...you know, because I’m a guy...but that’s not it, is it?”

“No,” Howard said. “It’s not. In fact, that doesn’t matter to me, at all. I’ve known for a very long time about Tony’s sexuality. In California he had a lot of girlfriends. And he had a lot of boyfriends. He didn’t think I knew about any of them, but I knew about them all.” 

Steve’s frown deepened.

“No, Steven, my objection to you is not your masculinity. It’s your mediocrity.”

Indignation rose up in Steve’s chest, but he pushed it down. He clenched his fists tighter together. “My mediocrity?”

“Yes. It means-”

“I know what it means.”

“Well, then you understand,” Howard said. “You understand why I would have a problem with you being with my son.”

_That will get him a good job waiting tables someday._

The muscle in Steve’s jaw began to work as he ground his teeth together. He didn’t want to say anything. He knew if he said anything, he would lose this battle. He would lose, and Howard would win, and then what would happen to him and Tony? What would happen to their future?

Howard waited for his reply, and when he got none, he went on. “What do you know about Stark Industries?”

Steve shook his head. “Just what Tony’s told me.”

“Stark Industries is a multi-billion-dollar company, Steven. We employ thousands of people. Our affiliates employ tens of thousands more. So, either directly, or indirectly, we-- _I_ \--am responsible for hundreds of thousands of people. The employees. Their children. Their wives and husbands. Their parents. I sit on the board of a dozen different organizations. There are fund-raisers. Balls. Galas. Symposiums. These things happen in different countries. In different languages. When I retire, all of that will fall on Tony’s shoulders. Not only will he inherit all my money and assets, but all my responsibilities, as well.”

Steve’s hands shook behind his back. His voice didn’t. “What if he doesn’t want to work for Stark Industries?” he asked. “What if he wants to do something else?”

Howard chuckled humorlessly. “There _is_ nothing else for a Stark, Steven. This is what I was born into. It’s what Tony was born into.” He cocked an eye at Steve. “And he needs a partner who can help him with that.”

“And that’s not me?”

“You tell me, Steven,” Howard said. “ _Is_ that you?”

“He loves me,” Steve said solidly. “And I love him.”

Howard sighed. “Love and business rarely have much common ground, Steven.”

Steve looked down at his feet. He chewed his lip. He didn’t look up, even when Howard stood and stepped around the desk toward him. “I must admit,” Howard said, “you have grown into a fine-looking young man. You seem honest. Pleasant. You’re obviously hard-working.” He laughed a bit. “If I met you on the street for the first time, I would most likely not have any issue with you, at all. I might, in fact, have held you up as an example to my son.” He cocked his head in a way that reminded Steve forcefully of Tony, but instead of being endeared the way he was with Tony, the gesture left him cold. So very cold. 

“But I didn’t meet you on the street, did I?” Howard asked. “I met you in my son’s bedroom. The two of you looking as guilty and nervous as any two teenage lovers have ever looked.”

Steve looked at him finally. The realization had been building slowly, but it came to a crashing crescendo as Howard stood in front of him now. “You want me to break up with him,” he said. “You don’t want to be the bad guy. You want it to be me.”

“What I want is for you to think about what’s best for Tony. I heard you tell him you’d take care of him. Do that, Steven,” Howard said. “Take care of him. Because he doesn’t know how to take care of himself. Not in that way. He’s too naive. Too much like a child.” He looked down at his own feet, and for the first time, his voice was soft, gentle. “He’s too much like his mother. Beautiful. Trusting. They both wanted everything. Tony doesn’t realize that’s not always possible. Maria didn’t realize it either.” 

“I’m not gonna break up with him just because you want me to,” Steve said. “I won’t do that.”

The look Howard gave him was the most disappointed look he had ever received. He hated it. Feared it, and hated it. “Then you’re only proving just how selfish you really are,” Howard said. His lips twisted into a sad smile. “That’s the same decision I made, Steven. And I can tell you right now, if I had made a different one, Maria would probably be alive right now. She’d be with someone else. But she’d be alive.”

“Why do you say that?”

“This life tore her to pieces. She couldn’t handle it. It wore her down. Broke her heart and wore her down.”

“You mean _you_ broke her heart.”

Howard shook his head. “It’s the same thing, Steven.” 

Steve said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Well,” Howard said, “I’ve said my piece. I’ll leave the rest in your hands. You know what needs to happen. If you love him, you’ll do it.”

“I’m not going to do it _because_ I love him.”

Howard clasped his shoulder. “I think you’ll change your mind, Steven,” he said. “I do.” And then he left.

Steve slumped down on the chair in front of Mr. Barker’s desk and put his head in his hands. They were shaking. He could feel them against his own forehead. His mouth was dry. His eyes felt too hot, too big. His head felt too big too. Huge with all the things Mr. Stark had said, and all the implications of those things. Words kept flashing through his mind. Love. Responsibility. Mediocrity. All those things. Those words. They beat inside his head like loud, crashing drums. Like thunder. And he was afraid. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what he’d do. What he’d be forced to do.

“Rogers?” Mr. Barker. At the door. “Are you alright?"

Steve looked up. Nodded. “Yeah, Mr. Barker. I’m okay.”

“Was it the Stark Industries Howard Stark?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he want?”

Steve shrugged. “Just to talk,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Talk about what?”

Steve sighed. “Business.” He looked at his hands. They were still shaking. “Just business.”

\---

Steve rode the bus home a few hours later. Mr. Barker had left him alone the rest of the day, leaving him to do his tasks without any interference. That was fine with Steve. He had a lot to think about. A lot to go over in his mind. Those words stayed foremost in his brain.

Love. Responsibility. Mediocrity.

That last one most of all. 

That one that negated the other two.

When he got home, he climbed the stairs, putting one foot in front of the other until he was at the top. He opened the door and went in. Sarah wasn’t home again. Another night at the hospital. Another night alone. If Tony had been in town, he could have come over. If Tony had been in town, Howard would not have come to the store today. Would not have spoken to him. Would not have said those things. Would not have pointed out the fact of his _mediocrity_.

But Tony wasn’t in town. He was out there, at his new school, proving to the world that he was anything but mediocre.

Steve sighed and reached into his pocket. He took out a folded slip of paper. Opened it. Looked at the numbers written inside. It was a phone number. Ten digits. He’d copied it off of a poster hanging on the bulletin board at school on Friday after he, Sam, and Tony had gone their separate ways after lunch. He had carried it in his pocket ever since, switching it from one pair of jeans to the next when he changed, keeping it close, keeping it as a reminder and as a safety net. 

He ran his thumb over it now. It was a twenty-four-hour number. It didn’t matter that it was nine o’clock on a Wednesday night. It didn’t matter that most other government agencies were closed at this hour. All that mattered, was those numbers. And those words. Especially the one word. The “mediocrity” word. Would calling this number now help get rid of that? Would he still be mediocre if he was a man in uniform, protecting and defending his country against all enemies both foreign and domestic? Would Howard Stark see his worth if he was doing those things? Would Tony?

Would he, himself?

Steve sighed and picked up the phone. 

There was really only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! See you in a few days with the next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call. Some snuggles. Some pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by snuggles, I mean sex. Just some forewarning there. I may have went a little overboard. But I wanted a little sugar in the bowl before I set it on fire. Sorry.  
> Also, this is another long one, and everything after the phone call is the result of a marathon 10-hour writing binge before I go back to work tomorrow after three days of being flat-on-my-back sick. If there are typos, I hope they're not too offensive.

SEVENTEEN

Tony called Steve again on Thursday night. 

He’d spent the day on campus with some of the kids he’d met. They were nice, friendly, with intellects and interests that matched his own. Tony was particularly taken with one of them, James Rhodes, who treated him like a cross between an old friend and a kid brother within hours, and it was he who suggested that Tony stay a couple more days and go to a couple parties over the weekend.

“You can’t really know what it’s like to go here unless you go to the parties,” he said. “You want to know what it’s going to be like, right? Stay and see.”

Tony wanted to stay, but he was getting a little homesick, too. Not for Howard or for their penthouse apartment, but for a certain fourth-floor walk-up. And a certain blue-eyed blond.

He found a phone booth a few blocks from campus and closed himself up inside. He had stopped at a convenience store, bought a Coke, and changed a bunch of dollar bills for quarters. He plugged his quarters into the phone, and dialed Steve’s number from memory. It rang four times, and he was starting to get scared no one would answer when Steve’s voice was suddenly in his ear, warm and rich.

“Hello?” 

Tony closed his eyes in relief. “Is this the Rogers residence?”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, and Tony could hear the drawl of humor in it. “And who’s this?”

“Your stalker. I’m going to start breathing heavy in your ear any second now.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stalker,” Steve said. “I only let one guy breathe heavy in my ear.”

“Oh yeah? And who might that be?”

“Sam Wilson.”

Tony growled into the receiver. “I’ll kill him.”

Steve laughed, and Tony rested his head against the glass enclosure, feeling suddenly weak and more than a little hot. True, the booth was like a mini greenhouse, and that probably accounted for some of that feeling, but Tony didn’t think it could quite account for it all. 

“Where are you?” Steve said, his voice a little pouty. “I thought you were coming home this morning.”

Tony sighed. All of a sudden, he didn’t give a fuck about parties. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. Some of the guys here are having a party tomorrow night and wanted me to come. I’m going to tell them no, though. I’m just going to come home.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. Tony could almost see him standing in his apartment. The phone was in the dining area, the most central place in the apartment. He’d be standing there, leaning against the wall, looking out the window. He’d be twisting the cord in his fingers. Tony had noticed he did that. That his restless, nervous fingers would twist it around and around while he spoke. He’d be doing it now, chewing his lip, thinking about what Tony had said. How he should respond. 

“You met some people already?” he said finally. “That’s great, Tony.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re cool. You’ll like them.”

“If you like them, then I’m sure I will too.”

“I do.”

“That’s good,” Steve said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I am,” Tony said. “But I’m going to come home tomorrow, anyway. I miss you.”

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice when he spoke, and he wished like hell he was there to see it in person. “I miss you too. A lot. But you don’t need to rush home. I want you to get the whole college experience. Parties too. You need to know what you’re getting yourself into when you go there in September.”

Tony laughed. “That’s just what Rhodey said.”

“Who’s Rhodey?”

“Just a guy I met,” he said, then grinned. “I might be breathing heavy in his ear later tonight. Since you’ve got Sam to breathe in yours.”

“I’ll kill him.”

Tony laughed again. That homesickness was suddenly a thousand times worse. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be in Steve’s bed with him.  _ Their _ bed. Their place. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the glass again. “No need,” he said. “The only ear I want to breathe heavy in is yours.”

Steve sighed. Tony thought he heard his own homesickness reflected in it, and he was both sad about it and extremely glad. “Me too, Tony,” he said. “It’s not the same if it’s not you.”

“You’re  _ really _ testing my patience right now, Rogers.”

Steve laughed softly. “Yeah. Will you be home on Sunday?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Do you wanna come over around five? Mom’s making roasted chicken and potatoes.”

Tony groaned. “That sounds so good.”

“Chocolate cake for dessert.”

“Oh baby. You’re killing me.”

“She goes to Mass at seven,” he said, then paused meaningfully. “She never makes me go if I don’t want to. It lasts about an hour, but she usually goes out for coffee with some friends from the parish afterward. So...like two hours.”

“God.”

“And...um...Mrs. Perkins goes with.”

Tony’s mouth was suddenly very dry. His knees very weak. His cock very hard. “Is it Sunday yet?” he choked out, and Steve laughed again.

“I really do miss you, Tony,” he said.

Tony nodded against the glass of the booth. “Me too, baby. I miss you so much. I’ve got a ton to tell you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Tony thought his voice changed a little, but that might have just been because of the distance between them. Or the fact that he was now dealing with a very obvious erection in a very public place. “I’ve got something to tell you too.”

“What is it?” Tony asked, trying desperately to get his body back under control. “Tell me now.”

“No,” Steve said. “Not now. It’s not that important anyway. It can wait.”

“Are you sure?” Tony said. “I don’t care if it’s not important. I just like hearing you talk.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Sunday, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony relented. He knocked his head against the booth a couple of times. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

“And, you know,  _ see you _ .”

Steve laughed a little, dark and heady, like red wine. "I know. It feels like it's been a long time.”

“Too long,” Tony said, then breathed out. His breath fogged up the glass, and he drew his finger through it. “I love you.”

“I-” Steve began, then stopped. When he spoke again, his voice had lost that sensual edge. “Um. Buffalo.”

Tony laughed. “Mom’s home, huh?”

“Yeah. Just now.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I like it when you do that thing where you suck on my b-”

“I have to go,” Steve said loudly, and if Tony had ever wondered if it was possible to actually  _ hear  _ a blush over the phone, he now had his answer.

“I love doing that to you,” Tony said, grinning shamelessly.

“Uh-huh. Payback’s a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“See you on Sunday?”

Tony nodded. He knew Steve couldn’t see him, but he did it anyway. “I’ll be there. I really do love you, baby. More than anything. I just want you to know that.”

Steve was silent for a couple of seconds, then he whispered, “I love you too, Tony. Bye.”

The sound of his voice--all soft and sweet--hit Tony hard. He swallowed back sudden tears and hung up the phone. He didn’t even trust himself to say good-bye. He was afraid if he did, he’d just start crying instead, and this probably wasn’t the place for that. 

He opened the door and stepped out. It was warm out, but after the heat of the phone booth, he still shivered. He shoved the rest of his quarters into his pocket and started back toward campus. He wasn’t thinking about the party he was supposed to go to. He wasn’t thinking about the classes he’d signed up for, or the apartment he and Howard had signed a lease on for the upcoming school year, or that he had finally agreed to do the internship at SI this summer as a compromise with his father, or that it meant he’d be in California for two and a half months during most of June and into August. He didn’t think about those things. He thought about Steve. Just him. Just his arms, and his eyes, and his smile. Just the way being around him made everything better. Just the way he wanted to be with him all the time, and didn’t want to be without him for a single second. Just the way Steve said ‘Forever’.

That most of all.

Forever.

\---

The party was fun. 

Rhodey and his girlfriend, Carol, took him around, talking his ear off about all the people in their circle of friends. Carol threaded her arm through his and waded into the throng of people dancing, and drinking, and laughing. She pointed out all of their friends, and told him a little about each one. When Rhodey came and drug her away to dance, she left him in the care of her friend, Pepper, and Tony spent the evening talking to her. She was bright, pretty, intelligent. He liked the way she tilted her head when she talked, and the way she smiled. In fact, he thought on the way home on Sunday morning, if it hadn’t been for Steve, she might have been someone he would have asked out for coffee. 

And she probably would have said yes.

At least, he thought she would have. She had given him a soft look when he left the party, and touched his shoulder. It had seemed friendly--maybe a little more than friendly--and he went back to his hotel room thinking that it could have been a signal that she was open to something more, if he wanted. 

He didn’t mention Steve. He hadn’t seen the point. It was one night, months from when he would actually be coming back here to study, and one drink and one touch on the shoulder didn’t mean anything. He might never even see her again. Neither of them had made any overt moves, or even said anything. He could have been reading into the gesture way more than what she’d meant, anyway. He knew his ego was a little--a lot--more  _ pronounced _ than some other people’s. He had probably taken her casual, friendly touch way too much to heart.

Besides, what did it matter now? He was on his way home. Steve was waiting for him. His mom had made dinner, and then would be leaving them to go to Mass. And Mrs. Perkins was going with her. The very thought was driving him to distraction, which probably wasn’t the best thing since the traffic heading back into the city was heavy, and Tony had a bit of a lead foot when he was at the wheel. Maybe thinking about Steve writhing on the sheets beneath him, moaning as loudly as he wanted while Tony ran his tongue over his chest, and his stomach, and his cock was not the best idea while he was driving. If he got into a car accident, what would the police report say? _ Distracted by thoughts of a quivering Adonis?  _ Or maybe that was too long. Maybe it would just be, _ Fuck-think. _ Maybe. That might be more to the point. 

He didn’t want to go home before he went to Steve’s. He was afraid Howard would be there and want to talk, but he needed to shower and drop his stuff off, so he guided the car to the penthouse parking garage, grabbed his bag, and headed to the elevator. He didn’t have to worry anyway. Howard wasn’t home, and Tony sighed. He was probably at the office, going over paperwork, getting ready for tomorrow’s start of the work-week. That wasn’t anything new, but since their little bonding session this week, he’d been nervous he would be there trying to play “dad”. 

But he wasn’t.

Tony was relieved, but he’d be lying if he said part of him wasn’t a little disappointed too.

He showered, threw on some fresh jeans and a t-shirt, gathered up his wallet and keys, and left again. He was getting anxious. His desire--his need--to see Steve had been growing and growing ever since their phone call Thursday night, and now it was so great it was nearly blinding`. He didn’t know how he was going to go two and a half months without seeing him this summer if he could barely go two and a half days. The thought left him feeling shaken and cold, and he couldn’t wait until he was back with Steve, back where he could wrap him in his big, strong, comforting arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. Tell him he loved him. Tell him he was going to take care of him.

He parked his car in his old spot and jumped out. The staircase leading up had never seemed so long. When he got to the top, he knocked on the door politely, all the while wishing he could hammer on it like a madman. He fidgeted, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and when the door opened, and Steve was there, he barely restrained himself from launching straight into his arms.

Thank Christ Steve didn’t hesitate at all.

He came through the door, pausing only half a second to yank it closed behind him, then dropped into Tony’s arms. Tony staggered a little under the sudden weight, but he held him up, and twined one hand in his hair, the other going around his neck and clutching tight, tight, tight.

“Tony,” Steve said, and that’s all he said. He just put his face in his neck and said his name, “Tony.”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony said. His voice was gentle. Soothing. “It’s okay. I’m here.” And for some reason, comforting Steve was almost better than being comforted  _ by _ him.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Steve lifted his head and Tony put his hand on the side of his neck, holding him so he could look at him, eating him up with his eyes. “Are you going to kiss me, baby?” he asked. “Or are you going to make me wait until after your mom goes to church?”

“No,” Steve said, his eyes hazy with want. “Now.” 

Tony tipped his head, and Steve readjusted his grip, slipping his arm tighter around Tony’s waist and pulling him against his chest. Tony sighed. He couldn’t help it. Just looking up at Steve’s blue eyes, so dark with love and a covetous hunger, made him feel like he was flying. Flying high above the earth, so fast that he was only a blur in the sky. So fast. So, so fast. And when Steve finally kissed him, it was like everything stopped. All time. All movement. All everything. It was just Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. All alone in a pocket of space that contained nothing but them. And that was all that mattered.

Tony broke their kiss, breathless, and pulled Steve’s head down so they were forehead-to-forehead. He kept his eyes closed, letting his fingers remind him of the shape of Steve’s lips, the texture of his skin. “God,” he whispered. “How did I go so long without that, huh?”

Steve laughed, the sound coming as a soft rumble in the back of his throat. “Don’t know. It was hard, though.”

“It  _ was _ hard.”

“Do you think it’s weird?” Steve murmured. “The way I can’t stand to not be touching you?”

Tony laughed now, and tipped his head just enough to brush his lips against Steve’s. “If it’s weird, then I’m the king of weird, ‘cause I feel like I’m going crazy whenever you’re not touching me.”

“Now we gotta go in there and not touch for the next two hours.”

“Unless we just bailed. My father has a lake-house up north. We can be  _ there _ in two hours, and then we can touch for however long we want.” He ran his hands over Steve’s shoulders, his arms, scratched up his back. “There’s nobody around for a couple miles. We’d be all alone.” He looked in Steve’s eyes, saw the heat in them. “When you make me come, I can scream as loud as I want to. Nobody will hear.”

Steve dropped his head bonelessly onto Tony’s shoulder. “You need to stop talking,” he whispered. “You’ve got me hard already just talking. I can’t go back in there like this.”

“All the more reason for us to just leave.”

Steve turned his head into Tony’s neck. “I wish we  _ could _ just leave,” Steve said, his voice changing, becoming wistful and soft. Tony frowned. “I wish we could leave and never come back.”

“Hey,” Tony said. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Steve shook his head, but he didn’t let go of Tony’s waist. He didn’t move. “Nothing. I just...nothing.”

“This doesn’t seem like nothing. What is it? What’s the matter?”

Instead of answering, Steve kissed his neck. Kissed his shoulder. When he pulled away, he was smiling. It wasn’t real, Tony could see that plainly, but it was there. “Later, okay?” Steve said. “Let’s talk about it later. After dinner.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it later. If you’re upset about something, I want to talk about it now.”

Steve kissed his lips twice, soft little grazes that made him shiver. “No. Later. Mom’s waiting.”

“Steve-”

But he didn’t listen, didn’t stop. He just slipped his hand down into Tony’s, opened the door, and went inside, pulling Tony with him.

“Tony!” Sarah said, when she saw him, and Steve passed him off into her embrace while he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Tony knew why. He hoped Sarah  _ didn’t  _ know why. 

Tony let himself be hugged and fawned over, and while it was happening, he forgot about how weird Steve had acted, how his voice sounded different, and how he hid his eyes from Tony so he wouldn’t see anything he wanted to keep hidden. It was fairly easy to forget. Steve didn’t act like that very often, and Tony didn’t want to think there was anything wrong anyway. He was able to brush it all under the rug with no trouble, and when Steve came out of the bathroom, he was smiling and happy again. When they sat down to dinner, he took every opportunity Sarah gave him to touch Tony. Every time her back was turned, Steve squeezed his knee, or took his hand. Every time she went into the kitchen, he placed a rushed kiss to his neck or his lips. 

Tony didn’t think they were fooling her much. But it was fun to try.

When they were finished eating, Sarah put her jacket on, then stood in front of the two boys. “Okay,” she said in a mock-stern voice, “dishes done when I get home, right?”

They both nodded, giving each other mischievous little side-looks. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, and Tony echoed him, “Yes, ma’am.”

She cocked an eyebrow at each of them, then kissed Tony’s cheek. He blushed--which was funny, because he  _ never _ blushed. She kissed Steve’s cheek next, and then gripped his chin with her thumb and the flat of her index finger. “Be. Have,” she emphasized...and then _ Steve _ blushed--which was funny too. At least to Tony.

“I-We will, Mom,” he said. 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

She left, and they waited until they heard her knock on Mrs. Perkins’s door, before falling against each other, giggling quietly like kids who had snuck out of bed after midnight. Tony ran to the door and looked out the peephole. “Damnit. Stairs are in the way. I can’t see them.”

“Go look out the window. They’ll be down in a minute.”

He went to the window and stood looking down at the street. He stood off to the side in case Mrs. Rogers looked up, watching until he saw them--Sarah, small and lithe, and Mrs. Perkins, tiny and sturdy--come out of the building. “There they are,” he said, holding the curtain aside a little with one hand. “And I finally get to see Mrs. Perkins. Shit, she  _ is _ old. Pretty spry, though, for seventy.”

Steve came up behind him and put his arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest. “Told you,” he said, and hooked his chin over Tony’s shoulder so he could look too. “Married five times. She’d have to be spry.”

“Guess so.”

They stood that way, watching until Sarah and Mrs. Perkins had turned the corner, then Tony spun in Steve’s arms and put his own around his neck. “So?” he asked lightly. “Are we going to do the dishes?”

“I guess.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I promised to behave.”

Tony huffed. “Guess I should just go home then.”

“Nononono,” Steve said, and Tony was thrilled that his voice had taken on that deep, sultry tone that he loved so much. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t want you going anywhere just yet.”

“But you promised.”

“We can bend the rules a little, can’t we?”

“What would your mother say, Steven?”

Steve shook his head. “How ‘bout we stop talking about my mother?”

“Good idea.” He pushed himself against Steve’s chest for just a moment, just long enough for Steve to bend toward him, searching for his mouth, and then he pulled away. “Got to get those dishes done, Rogers,” he said.

Steve groaned. “Don’t wanna.”

“Too bad. We promised. And you might be okay with being in trouble with your mom, but  _ I’ve _ got to make a good impression.”

“You’ll be fine. She already loves you.”

“And I want to keep it that way.”

“I thought we were going to stop talking about my mother?”

Tony laughed, and squeezed Steve tight before letting him go. “You’re right. We were. Are. And if we hurry and do these dishes right now, we won’t have to talk about her for a while.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

It didn’t take long, really. And they had fun doing it, splashing each other a little. But not too much. Neither one wanted to take the time later to clean up a water mess when they had so little of it to spend together tonight. 

“Done?” Tony asked, after Steve scrubbed the counters, and he himself wiped up the water that  _ had _ managed to get onto the floor.

Steve gave the kitchen a critical once-over, brushed an imaginary crumb from the counter-top, and nodded. “Yeah. I think we’re good.”

“Thank god,” Tony said, and jumped up into his arms. He wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, knowing full-well that Steve would catch him and hold him up, and he wasn’t wrong. Steve cupped his hands around Tony’s ass--all the better to feel you up, my dear--and walked them out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. Tony took the opportunity to scatter tiny butterfly-like kisses over his face, his throat, his chest, his mouth following his hands as they unbuttoned Steve’s shirt, revealing his skin to his touch one tantalizing inch after another.

“We’ve got almost an hour,” Steve said softly, laying Tony on the bed. He followed by necessity--Tony still had him in his grasp--and leaned down to press his lips to Tony’s. 

“Not enough time,” Tony whined, but his fingers were working the rest of the buttons on Steve’s shirt, his hips canting upward to meet Steve’s in light thrusts.

“I know,” Steve said. “I know. But that’s what we’ve got.” 

Tony saw him glance at the clock. Tony looked too. Eight o’clock. No, not quite an hour. “Let’s not waste any more then,” he said. 

Steve nodded, and then he was kissing him, and shoving Tony’s t-shirt out of the way so he could tongue at his nipples, his hands slipping deliciously over his skin, avoiding his cock, but touching everywhere else. Everywhere his hands could reach. His stomach, his sides, his hips. Tony trembled beneath him, his thoughts spiraling away under Steve’s talented, knowing hands.

“Did you think about me?” Steve asked as he slid Tony’s jeans down his legs and tossed them away. “While you were gone? Did you think about me, Tony?”

Steve ran his fingers over Tony’s inner thighs. The muscles jumped and shuddered under his delicate touch. It was both too much and not nearly enough, and Tony found himself getting short of breath already, wanting more. Wanting everything. Right now. “Steve,” he said. “Baby, please.”

Steve ran his tongue over the place where his fingers had been, then left a string of small, stinging bites one after the other. His breath ghosted over Tony’s skin, and he moaned shamelessly. Tony knotted his hands in his hair, trying to guide him to where he really wanted him, but Steve resisted, laughing a little. “Not yet,” he whispered. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Baby,” Tony begged. “Baby, please. Stop teasing me.”

“Then answer my question.”

Tony looked down at him, met his dark blue eyes, saw his own lust mirrored back at him. Question? He couldn’t remember any fucking question. His mind was too heavy. Too full. Too cloudy with the sensation of Steve’s breath on his skin, his wet kisses, his teeth. His presence was an all-encompassing thing, and for a brief, terrifying, exhilarating moment, he wondered what it would be like if Steve tied him to the bed. His hands bound with silk or steel, his ankles tied, legs spread wide, putting him completely at Steve’s mercy. Completely under his control. Would he be a kind master? Or a cruel one? 

The thought-- _ both _ thoughts, both sides of that heady, overwhelming coin--made his cock jump, made his breath disappear. He twisted on the sheets, his body moving involuntarily, and Steve put one hand on his stomach, holding him in place, grounding him, and while Tony’s mind eased a little, his body did not. Steve kissed his thigh again. His hair brushed the underside of Tony’s straining cock, and he cried out.

“Tony,” Steve said, his hand still splayed comfortingly on his stomach. “Tony, it’s okay. It’s okay.” His voice was soothing, designed to calm, but his tongue still drew a devil’s line along Tony’s thigh, going higher, but still not close enough, still not where Tony wanted-- _ needed _ \--it to be.

“Steve,” he babbled. “Steve, baby please, please, just-just. Please. I need you. Your mouth. Your hands. Whatever. God, I don’t care. Just touch me.”

Steve wrapped his hand around Tony’s cock and pumped it once. Twice. Then took his hand away. Tony sobbed in frustration. “Answer my question,” Steve urged, then dipped his head deliberately lower, and took one of Tony’s balls into his mouth and suckled gently.

“Oh god,” Tony whispered. “Oh my fucking god.” His hands clenched in the sheets beneath him, pulling at it restlessly.

Steve chuckled like he was enjoying this immensely. He must have been.

“Steve,” Tony said, “Steve, please.  _ Please _ . I can’t. I need-”

“Just-”

“Ask me again then, for Christ’s sake!”

Steve took pity on him. He moved upward, kissed Tony deeply, then looked at him. Tony saw an evil glint of amusement in his eyes. “Did you think about me while you were gone?”

Tony nodded, head bobbing up and down like he was a puppet and his head was on a string that only Steve could control. “Yes. Yes, I thought about you. All the time. Every minute. Every second. Now, please. Please, baby. God, please?”

Steve laughed and kissed him again. “See?” he whispered, as he kissed his way down Tony’s body again. “I told you. Payback’s a bitch.”

Then he took Tony into his mouth, and his whole world whited out.

Steve made it fast and good, doing everything Tony liked to make him come, and when he did, Tony didn’t scream. He was too lost by then. Too overcome by sensation to do anything but murmur Steve’s name and moan deep in his throat, his eyelids fluttering, pupils dilated to black spheres.

Steve swallowed around his softening cock and Tony grasped at him with weak hands. He understood and made his way slowly back upward until he could curl against Tony, his head on his chest. 

Tony put his hand in Steve’s sweat-damp hair and smoothed it back from his ear. “Now you,” he whispered, but Steve shook his head. 

“No. It’s okay, Tony. I’m good.”

Tony lifted a tired, sardonic eyebrow. “You’re good? No. Uh-uh. You can’t do all that for me and then tell me you’re good. Come on. Let me do you now.”

Steve let out an embarrassed laugh and turned his face into Tony’s chest. He could feel the heat from Steve’s cheek against his skin. “No,” he said. “ _ I’m good _ . You know? I already…”

He trailed off, and Tony found enough strength in his body to giggle. “Seriously? When? How?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, his cheek now flaming against Tony’s chest. “Just...the sounds you were making. Hearing you-” he sighed, “ _ beg _ me.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t stop it. It just happened.”

Tony continued to caress his hair, his hand moving in satisfied little strokes. “Just when I think you can’t get any hotter, you do something else that makes you hot times ten.”

“It’s not hot,” Steve protested, but Tony could feel his smile against him. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh god, no. It’s not embarrassing. You getting off just on the sounds I make? Baby, that is definitely hot.”

Steve cuddled closer against him. “To you, maybe.”

“Kind of think my opinion is the only one that matters in this situation.”

Steve laughed and placed a couple of tender little kisses to his collarbone. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess that’s true.”

“Of course it is.”

They lay together for a few minutes, just breathing, just feeling each other, just being together. Tony let his hand trail over Steve’s bare back, up the indent of his spine. Steve pressed his lips to Tony’s skin, not moving, just kissing wherever he could reach without leaving the confines of Tony’s arms.

After a while, Tony looked at the clock. 8:41. He groaned. “Fuck. We’ve got to get up, baby,” he said. “Your mom will be home in a few minutes.”

Instead of jumping to his feet the way Tony expected, Steve curled closer, tightening his hold on Tony’s waist. “I don’t want to.”

Tony smiled. “I don’t want to either, but we’ll traumatize her if she comes in and sees us like this. She’s an amazing lady, Steve, but I don’t think she wants to see her son and his teenage lover all naked as soon as she comes home from church.”

Steve turned his head finally so his chin was propped on Tony’s chest. When he raised his eyes, Tony could just see them. Just see how dark they were. How sad. “Where’s this place you said we could run away to?” he asked unhappily.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair again, loving, even in this moment, how Steve leaned into his touch. “Couple hours away from here. On a lake up north.”

“Let’s go there,” Steve said. “Let’s go there right now and never come home, okay? We can change our names. Get jobs. Get a dog.” He sighed and ducked his head to brush another sad kiss against Tony’s chest. “Can we, Tony? Can we just do that?”

“Okay,” Tony said, frowning. “I’ve let you get away with this long enough. What the hell is going on with you?”

Steve shrugged one shoulder in a gesture that Tony always saw as the preamble to a lie. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “I just love you.” Tony sighed, raising his eyes to the sky as Steve went on. “I love you and I want to be with you forever. That’s all.”

“That’s not all, Steve. I can see that’s not all.” He hooked his finger under Steve’s chin, lifting it so he could look at him. “What. Is. Wrong?”

Steve pushed off his chest and grabbed his jeans. He pulled them back on and went to the window. It was open a couple of inches, but now he opened it all the way, letting the cool night air in, letting it come in and take their combined scent away from the room. Away from them. He grabbed his shirt from where Tony had thrown it onto the desk and slipped it back on. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Steve said, as he began to refasten the buttons. “It’s done. I can’t change it.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony said. He swung his legs off the bed, and hooked his own jeans toward him with his toe. “What’s done?”

Steve finished with his buttons, then just stood with his head down, his back turned. Tony pulled his jeans on and looked for his shirt. He spied it tangled in the sheets and yanked at it, trying to free it. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Christ, Steve,” Tony said, finally tugging his shirt loose from the sheets. “It matters if it’s upsetting you this much. What the fuck is it?”

Steve put his hand on top of a folded paper on his desk. It didn’t look that much different from all the other sheets of paper on his desk, but it must have meant something to him. Tony could see the minute tremble of his fingers as they touched it, and a cold dribble of fear traced its way down his spine, just as his own fingers had traced along Steve’s not five minutes ago in the sweet afterglow.

“Steve?”

His fingers--those long, talented, artistic fingers--closed over the sheet of paper, and he raised it in Tony’s direction. He didn’t turn, not fully, just enough to hold the paper out for Tony to take. “Here,” he said dully. “Read it.”

Tony didn’t take it. Just looked at it. “What is it?”

“Just read it.”

_ No love-note this time _ , Tony thought helplessly, and reached for it. The paper rustled in his hands as he unfolded it.

He didn’t read it. Not really. He just let his eyes skim over it from one paragraph to the next, phrases jumping out at him like neon-bright sigils.  _ United States Army. Basic Training. Report for duty. _

Report for duty.

“What is this?” he asked faintly, his eyes still skimming the letter.  _ July 12th. Depart July 12th at 06:00. Fort Benning, Georgia. _

Fort Benning, Georgia.

“Steve?”

Steve sighed, his shoulders lifting and then falling. “I did it for us,” he whispered. “For our future. So we could have one, you know? The art thing…” he shrugged. “It was never gonna work out. I was never going to make a living at it. All I was gonna get out of it was an expensive degree and a minimum wage job. I’d be worse off than I am right now.”

Tony closed his eyes. Darkness washing over him. Darkness threaded with black pain and skeins of reddest rage.

“But this,” Steve said, turning and gesturing at the letter in Tony’s hand. “This is something  _ real _ . It’s not just a stupid fantasy. It’s something I can do. For us. To make it so that we can be together. To make it so that-”

“Stop,” Tony said, and even though his voice was quiet, Steve stopped immediately. “You can’t be serious with this,” he said. “This is a joke, right?”

Steve shook his head. 

Tony looked down at the paper in his hand, then back up at the man he loved. “Are-” he swallowed, “Are you crazy?” It wasn’t accusatory. It was genuinely, fearfully curious.

Steve shook his head again.

Tony sniffed, blinked back the tears that were there. His tongue moved in his mouth, as if it wanted to form words but his brain wasn’t getting the message just yet. “Do, um, do you know how crazy  _ this _ is?” he asked in his new gently curious voice. He lifted the letter with cold fingers and held it up so Steve could see the neat typeface. 

“It’s not crazy, Tony,” Steve replied in a gentle voice of his own. “It was the only thing-”

“Bullshit!” Tony shouted suddenly. Steve flinched back as if struck.”That’s bullshit, Steve. Fucking bullshit.” He jumped to his feet and brandished the letter at Steve like a weapon. “What the fuck were you  _ thinking _ , huh?”

Steve looked at him, his eyes turning chilly. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Tony,” he said. “I’m not stupid.”

Tony shook his head angrily. “I never  _ said _ you were stupid! I would never say you’re stupid, and you fucking know that. But how could you do this? How could you do this without talking to me first?”

Steve sat back on the desk, the fight leaving his body, letting his shoulders slump. He raised a hand to his eyes and cupped them, wiping away tears of his own. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Any other time, the sight of Steve Rogers in tears would have broken him down, but not tonight. Not now. Tony was angry, pain coming in waves, surging over him like the ocean tide. “You’re sorry?” he snapped, unable to stop himself, and hating himself for it. “You’re  _ sorry _ ? When were you going to tell me about this? On your way out the goddamn door?”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony rubbed his face. His own tears that had threatened got scrubbed away by the gesture, but not letting them take their natural course had taken its toll. His eyes were now hot and red inside their sockets. His breath suddenly ragged. “How long?” Tony gasped. His heart hurt in his chest. His heart hurt and he couldn’t get enough breath. 

“How long-?”

“How fucking long are you going to be gone?”

Steve sighed. “Three years.”

And then all the air was gone. All the air in his lungs. All the air in the room. All the air in the entire world. Gone. Poof.

Three years.

Tony put a hand to his face. And the tears were back. Oh yeah. They were back with a vengeance. “You’ve got to get out of this,” Tony said. “Get out of this.”

“I can’t.”

“Find a way,” Tony lashed out. “Do it. Get out of this. This is crazy. And dangerous. And...and-”

“It’s not  _ crazy _ , Tony!” Steve flared. “God. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that this is the way for us to be together? To get out from underneath your father’s thumb, and-”

And that was too much. Out of everything, every word that had been said, that was too much. “Stop right there,” Tony said. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare mention my father and then say you did this for me.”

“Of fucking  _ course _ I did this for you! Who else would I do it for?”

“For  _ him _ !” Tony yelled. “If you did this for anybody, you did it for  _ him _ . To prove something to him. To prove something to yourself  _ because _ of him.” He shook his head in disgust. “You didn’t do this for me,” he said. “I’m just part of the baggage.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Tony saw it happen. Saw the way his chest hitched. The way his eyes turned cloudy with fear and pain. He had stood up when he was yelling his defense, but now he fell back again onto the desk. One hand went to his face. The other clutched the edge of the desk, desperate for something to hold onto, something to keep himself tethered to the here and now. 

“Don’t say that,” he whispered in a broken voice. “Don’t say that, Tony. Please. Please don’t.”

Tony let his head fall back. He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to breathe in some of that non-existent air. Tried to make his lungs work, his heart beat.  _ Go over there! _ his brain shrieked, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet. He had to calm down. He had to get some control. Think about this for a second. That wasn’t his usual way. He knew that. Accepted it. But he had to do it. He ran a hand through his hair. Passed the same hand over his eyes. His mouth. Trying. Trying so desperately to get himself under control. To make this situation something that was not completely and totally fucked. But it was hard. So goddamn hard.

“Okay,” Tony said. “What-” Deep, calming breath. In...hold...out. “What does your mom say? I mean, she can’t be on-board with this?”

Steve looked down at his feet, wiped his tears away. And said nothing. Nothing in the way that said everything.

“Oh no,” Tony breathed and put the hand over his eyes again. “Oh god, Steve, no.”

“I couldn’t,” he whispered miserably. “I just-I just couldn’t.”

Tony broke. His own rage and fear was forgotten. He went to him then. He grasped his upper arms in cold hands and shook him. “You didn’t even tell your  _ mother _ ? Baby. Baby, why-”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Steve lifted his head until his eyes locked with Tony’s. Blue and brown, both darker now, both angry and hurt and upset...and scared. Scared of a lot of things, but especially scared of that new voice that had spoken. That new voice that was not just scared, but terrified.

“Steve?” she asked. “Tell me what?”

Steve’s lip quivered, and Tony put his hand on the side of his neck, trying with everything he had to calm him down, to give him something to hold onto. Steve lifted one hand and grasped Tony’s wrist. He held it for a moment, breathing deeply, and then he let it go. Both the breath he was holding, and Tony’s hand. 

Tony was still holding the letter. Through it all, he had kept it clutched in his fist and now it was wrinkled but still legible. Steve took it out of Tony’s unresisting fingers. He stepped around Tony without a backward glance and toward his mother. She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, her jacket still on, unbuttoned over a blue dress. It was Steve’s favorite dress. He thought it made her look like a movie star from the nineteen-forties. Like Ingrid Bergman in  _ Casablanca _ .

She looked up at him when he stopped in front of her. Mrs. Perkins stood off to the side, frowning, holding her bulky, old-lady purse like a shield in front of her. 

Steve pressed the letter into her hand. “Here, Mom,” he said quietly. “Just read this, okay? It’ll tell you everything.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he said in her ear. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away from her and gave her a sad smile. “I gotta get some air. I’ll be back in a little while, okay? Then we can talk about it.”

She nodded silently, the crumpled letter in her hand. Steve turned once more and looked at Tony. Just for a second. Just a glance. A troubled, turbulent, painful glance. And then he started out the door. 

Mrs. Perkins caught him by the elbow. She patted his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. She’d watched him grow from a tiny, sickly child to the young, handsome man in front of her, and she felt more affection for him than anyone in the world other than his dear mother.

Steve let out a breath and smiled back. It came naturally, and was simple and beautiful. “Thanks,” he whispered, opened the door, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My previous readers know about my sloppy-ass research skills. It's a 30-second Google search, guys. Sorry for the wrong things. I've said it before and I'll probably have to say it again--I deal in feelings not facts.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love you all!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. Running away. Going away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little long. But there's a lot of ground to cover. This is the last chapter of the "high school" portion of the story. Next one will start to delve into the "adulthood" section. None of those will be as in-depth as the high school, but they'll each be an important moment for our guys.

SEVENTEEN 

After their fight, it was easier to avoid each other, so that was what they did. School was almost out. Graduation was in a few days. When they saw each other--which wasn’t that often, but inevitable--they gave each other awkward “hey”s, and then stood, shuffling their feet, mumbling about classes and finals. Muttering stuff like “maybe we should get together sometime...”, and replies of “yeah, but I’ve really gotta study too, so…” They let it go at that. Even though they both knew the other was lying. Right now, neither really cared. Right now, it was almost a relief to not have to deal with it. Deal with each other. Or, at least, the each other that had existed in Steve’s bedroom the last time they really, genuinely spoke. It was as if neither thought there was anything left to be said--Tony was going away for the summer. Steve was going away for what amounted to one-sixth of his young life--and they both hated it. Hated that the one person they had loved and trusted almost more than anyone else had let them down in such a deep, fundamental way.

 _Steve didn’t even_ think _about talking to me first._

 _Tony didn’t even_ try _to understand why I'm doing this._

Both of them felt hurt--almost betrayed. Neither of them knew what to do about it.

Steve had talked to his mom that night when he got home. Mrs. Perkins brewed them both tea, sat them down at the kitchen table, then left them alone, descending the stairs in small, careful steps, purse hung over her arm. She would have liked to listen to what Steven had to say, but this was a family-talk. She was sure dear Sarah would tell her all about it eventually. She just hoped Steven was all right. That he and the other boy hadn’t hurt each other too badly. Steven was so sweet, so sensitive, and the thought of him being hurt--especially by someone who obviously loved him so much--was almost too much for her to bear.

When Mrs. Perkins was gone, Steve told Sarah how sorry he was. How sorry he was that he hadn’t told her what he had done. That he was sorry he hadn’t asked her what she thought. 

“Tony said it was his fault,” Sarah said after Steve stopped talking long enough to sip his tea. “He said you did because of him. And his father.”

Steve shook his head before she was even finished speaking. “No,” he insisted. “It wasn’t because of Tony. It was my decision. It was because of _me_.”

“What about Mr. Stark? What does he have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” he said. “He doesn’t have _anything_ to do with this.”

“That’s not what Tony said.”

“Believe _me_ , Mom,” Steve said quietly, grasping her wrist where it lay on the tabletop. “Tony...he doesn’t really get it. I tried to tell him, but he didn’t understand.” 

He looked down then, at where his mother’s hand lay in his. He didn’t cry. He’d done that while he was out. He ducked into an open convenience store, went into the bathroom, locked the door, and cried. He did it propped against the sink, rubbing his eyes with his fists like an overly-tired five-year-old, and when he was done, when the storm had passed, he washed his face and his hands, went back out into the store, bought a pack of gum, and went home. So, no, he didn’t cry, but his eyes were empty, his stomach tied in double-knots.

Sarah saw that. Saw how much he’d been hurt, that he was _hurting_. Present tense. Tony had looked the same. Had that same, hollow look in his eyes, that same sour twist to his lips. She’d held him before he left. For as long as he let her anyway, rocking him a little, then kissed his temple and told him she was sure he was wrong. That he had to be patient with Steve. He could be a little stubborn sometimes, but he always came back around to the right way of thinking. They just had to give him time.

Tony had laughed bitterly, pressing his cheek into her shoulder and clutching her tightly. “Yeah. He’s stubborn, all right. But he’s nothing compared to my dad, Mrs. Rogers. Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If he hadn’t met me...if we’d never…”

“Then he’d be even more miserable right now,” she said. “He’s the happiest I’ve seen him since he was a little boy, sweetheart. That’s got a lot to do with you.”

“He wasn’t that happy when he left.”

“Like I said. Give him time.”

Tony laughed again and pulled out of her arms. It was jagged and brittle. It sounded frightening coming out of his young, pretty mouth. “Sorry, Mrs. Rogers. But we’re out of time.”

She said the same words to Steve as they sat at the kitchen table, her delicate wrist in his hand. “You need to give him time, Steve. This was a shock. Give him time to work through it.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Mom,” he said tiredly, and hung his head. “It’s done.” And the finality with which he spoke seemed to zipper her lips together. She had no argument for that, it seemed. She tried, but her mind--grieving her own loss, screaming its pain like a caged jungle cat inside her--simply would not let anything else out. No words of comfort. Or admonition. Or anything else except “Good-night” when he stood, kissed the top of her head, and walked away from her, closing the door to his bedroom gently behind him.

Tony talked to his father too.

Howard was home when Tony got there. He was sitting on the living room sofa, a glass of Scotch by his hand, glasses low on his nose, tie pulled down, shirt-sleeves rolled up. It was as casual as Tony had ever seen him look. It was his Sunday, dress-down look. Tony had seen it his entire life. 

“Hello, son,” Howard said when Tony opened the door. He barely glanced up from the paperwork on the coffee table in front of him. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

The question was perfunctory. A semblance of fatherly concern. Tony felt his guts twisting inside the confines of his skin, like roiling snakes in a pit. He couldn’t speak. He just stood staring at his father, hating him, loving him, wishing to Christ it had been Howard who had died, and it was his mother he was looking at right now.

Howard scratched something out on the paper with the pen he was holding, jotted the correction down in the margin, then looked up at his son. “Son? How was campus?”

In his mind, Tony saw himself rushing forward and spitting in the man’s face. He saw himself punching him in the mouth, screaming at him for fucking up the one good thing he had in his life. But in reality, he didn’t do those things. He just looked at his father, then said in a tone that was dull and lifeless. “I’m not your son anymore.”

Howard frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll do the internship. I said I would, and I will. I’ll stay at the house in Malibu. You can have Personnel deposit my pay in my bank account.”

“What’s the matter with-”

“When I come back in the fall to go to school, you’ll pay for it, like we agreed. You’ll pay my room and board, and my other expenses. You said you would, and you will.”

Howard sat back and looked at him over the top of his glasses.

“When I graduate, I’ll come to work for the company. I’ll be good at it. I already know I’ll be good at it. I’ll work there, and train there, and when you retire, I’ll take it over. Because that’s what’s best for me. For my future.” Tony looked at him, his eyes dull and glazed with hurt and hatred. He looked at his father. The man who had just brought his whole life to a standstill. The man who had done everything in his power to hurt the one man Tony loved completely. Steve could say it wasn’t true, but Tony knew the reality. He’d lived with Howard all his life. He knew what he was capable of.

Tony waited for a moment. Waited for Howard to respond. But he didn’t. 

“You’ll do everything you can to help me succeed,” Tony went on lifelessly. And why not? He’d left his life back at that fourth-floor apartment. “Because that’s what’s best for _you_. For the _company’s_ future.”

Howard continued to say nothing. He just gazed at him from over the tops of his glasses. He didn’t even reach for his drink. He just sat, looking at him. Tony didn't think he had ever had his complete and utter attention before. Yesterday--or even two hours ago--that would have meant something to him.

“But I’m not your son anymore. We’re not family. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. We have no personal relationship beyond work. Agreed?”

Tony could see the wheels turning in Howard’s mind. That was nothing new. His wheels were always turning. Tony thought they even turned in his sleep. Tony watched them turn, not dropping his eyes, but not giving him anything either. This was all he would give him. If Howard said no, if he didn’t agree to the terms Tony had laid out, he would just leave. He’d turn back around, leave the keys to his car and the apartment on the table, and leave. He’d never ridden the bus before--Howard had been right about that--but he thought he could figure it out well enough to make it to Clint or Nat’s house. 

He wouldn’t go to Steve. He couldn’t. The wound was still too fresh.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, Howard leaned forward again. He picked up his pen and one of the papers. “If that’s the way you want it,” he said.

Tony nodded. “It is.”

“Then I accept your terms.” He looked back down at his paper, his eyes moving across it as he read. “Tony.”

“Howard,” Tony said, and went down the hall to his room. 

He made it inside before the tears fell. But it was a very near thing.

Now Tony was standing against the outside wall of the school, his back against the brick. School hadn’t started yet, the bell hadn’t rung, but he was there anyway. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Getting to school earlier. He never admitted to himself that he was doing it so he could watch Steve walking in from the bus stop down the street, pretending that he was walking toward _him_ , that Steve would see him and walk a little faster like he always did when he saw him, putting that little jog in his step that wasn’t quite a run, but was most definitely faster than a walk, just so he could get to him quicker. No, he didn’t admit that was the reason, but it was. 

Tony watched him coming now. There was no jog in his step, though. Just a head-down trudge, like he was on his way to the executioner’s chair instead of school, and he never saw Tony at all. Never saw the way his eyes followed him, eyes filled with longing and sadness. Steve kept his own eyes on his shoes, just putting one foot in front of the other, his bag slung over his shoulder. He made his way over to one of the benches, tossed his bag down, took out a book, and started to read. His hair glinted gold in the morning sun. Tony could see it from here. See the way it lit it up, making it glow from the inside like a secret fire. He wanted to run his fingers through it. He knew what it felt like, how soft and silky it was, and he wished with everything he had that he could just go do it again right this very second.

“You’re staring.”

Startled, Tony turned and saw Sam standing beside him. He was surprised. Sam hadn’t talked to him much over the past couple of weeks, and Tony didn’t blame him. He was Steve’s friend. Of course he’d be on his side.

Tony went back to looking at Steve, watched as he turned a page. “Yeah,” he agreed. “So what if I am?”

Sam surprised him again by laughing a little. “Well, at least you can admit it. Steve never does. Never _has_. He always denied it. Still does.”

_Still?_

“What are you talking about, Sam?”

Sam nodded toward Steve. “You. Him. Before you guys got together he was always staring at you. I saw you looking at him too, but he was _always_ staring at you. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so damn sweet.”

Tony felt a little ember light in his stomach, but he ground it out with the heel of his metaphorical shoe. “Yeah, well, he’s not staring at me now.”

Sam put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. “Christ, you two are stupid,” he murmured incredulously.

“And again,” Tony said, a hint of indignation in his voice, “ _what_ are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how fucking stupid you two are,” Sam answered. “I’m talking about how he’s so in love with you it’s painful for me to look at. And how you stare at him all the time--which tells me pretty clearly you’re in love with him too--but won’t go anywhere near him unless you absolutely have to, and it’s starting to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony snapped a little more sharply than even he wanted to, “how is this any of your business?”

Sam moved in front of him, looked him squarely in the eye. Tony flinched back a little. Those eyes were usually either calm and warm or filled with a quiet humor, but now they were blazing. “It’s my business because my two best friends are making each other miserable and they won’t get over themselves and knock it the fuck off,” he said in a loud whisper.

Tony drew in a deep, sudden breath. He let it out slowly, frowning, while Sam made a visible effort to get himself under control. It didn’t take long. Sam was a man in control of his emotions. Tony had always admired that, especially since it was so different from himself.

Sam let out a breath of his own. He lifted his chin a little. “You do know where he’s going, right?” he asked.

Tony nodded. He looked past Sam’s shoulder to where Steve still sat, obliviously reading his book in the sun. “Georgia,” he said quietly.

Sam folded his arms, his mouth turning down in a disappointed little frown. “I meant _after_ Georgia.”

Tony looked back at him, understanding darkening his eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Because look at him.” he said, and now he looked over his own shoulder at Steve. His face softened when he did into something gentle and filled with the love of a brother. “Look at the kind of man he is. Strong. Decent. _Loyal_.” He shook his head. “There’s no fucking way they won’t send him overseas, Tony. Iraq. Afghanistan.” He looked back at Tony. “Somewhere. You know that. And you know he’ll go. And he’ll do what they tell him to do, because he wants to help people. All the people. The people here. The people there. He’ll want to believe that he’s making a difference in the _world_.” Sam shook his head again. “God, and maybe he will. I hope so. I hope for everyone’s sake that he _can_ make a difference. I think if anyone can, it would be him.”

Steve. Sitting so peaceful there in the sun. Tony smiled a little. “Yeah. It would be,” he said gently.

“But other stuff could happen too,” Sam said, and Tony looked back at him. “You know that.”

“Other stuff.”

“Yeah. He’ll be a soldier, Tony. They’ll send him into dangerous situations.” He paused. “He could get hurt. Or-”

“Don’t,” Tony said quickly, and his gaze snapped back to Steve. “Don’t, okay? I get it. I get what you’re saying. But don’t say it.”

Sam grasped his arm and Tony drew his eyes back to his. They were still soft, but there was a stern edge to them too. “Make up with him,” Sam said. “Or at least make friends again. If something _does_ happen while he’s gone...at least you won’t still be mad at each other.”

Tony found himself nodding before Sam had even finished speaking. The thought of something happening to Steve--of Steve getting hurt...or worse--was too much for him. He would have agreed to anything. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

Tony put a tentative hand on Sam’s shoulder. “What about you?” he asked, chewing his lip. “You’re going. Do I need to make up with you, too?”

Sam raised one quizzical eyebrow. A little smile played around the corners of his lips. “Were we fighting?”

“I thought we were.”

Sam shook his head. “Stupid,” he muttered. But he was still smiling.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, and a huge weight seemed to have lifted off his shoulders. He glanced back at Steve, then squeezed Sam’s shoulder and let him go. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

Steve didn’t hear anyone coming as he sat on the bench reading his book. Well...maybe not reading. Looking at. He was trying to read, but it wasn’t working. His mind kept wandering away from the words on the page, the letters swimming before his eyes, black letters swirling in a sea of white, changing to spell out a name over and over. _Tony Stark_ a hundred times on every page. 

He didn’t hear the soft-footed approach. He only looked up when the shadow fell on the page. And when he finally did, his eyes widened minutely.

“Hey,” Tony said from above him.

Steve blinked a few times fast, trying to clear his eyes in case it was just a trick of the light and this was some other guy standing here looking anxiously down at him. But it must not have been. Tony still stayed Tony. Slim, elegant even in his t-shirt and jeans, eyes dark and watchful. In a word--beautiful.

“Hey,” Steve answered, heard the hitch in his voice, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Hey. Tony. Hey.”

He knew he sounded stupid. He could hear it in his own ears, but Tony didn’t laugh at him. Didn’t even crack a smile. His face stayed serious. “Do you want to go for a ride?” he said, and his voice was serious too. As if he was asking Steve for something life-altering. Like a kidney. Or for the rest of his life.

School was about to start. He had a paper to turn in to his English teacher, one he’d stayed up writing half the night. He was supposed to meet Sam for lunch. But the school stuff didn’t seem very important right now, and Sam would forgive him. He nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

“Come on.”

Steve stood up, picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder all in one smooth movement. Tony had already started across the lawn toward his car, and Steve ran a few steps to catch up. When he reached Tony’s side, he thought he saw a little pleased smile tease Tony’s lips for the briefest moments, but it was there and gone so fast he wasn’t sure if he had actually seen it or not. 

He waited by the passenger-side door while Tony climbed in and unlocked it, then slipped inside the car with practiced ease. He tossed his bag in the backseat like he’d done dozens of times before, and buckled his seat-belt while Tony keyed the engine to life. It sounded the same. Loud and good. Steve felt his spirits lift a little. It was irrational. He knew it. One little car ride was not going to make much of a difference, but he felt it anyway. Felt it and went with it, hoping he was wrong. Hoping it _would_ make a difference.

Tony put his hand on the gear-shift. “Where do you want to go?”

Steve shrugged, lifting his shoulders slowly and letting them settle back into place. “I don’t care, Tony,” he said quietly. “Just not here.”

Tony put the car in drive and pulled out. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

They drove for an hour without speaking. Tony turned the radio on, and it played softly, song after song, interrupted by the DJ only a couple times to tell them the time in a voice that spoke of a late night out and limited coffee this morning. Sometimes Tony sang along with the music coming from the speakers. Not loudly, but well, and Steve put his head against the window, watching as the city fell behind them, comforted by the sound of his voice and the feeling of him sitting beside him, existing in the same little pocket of space, even if it was for only this short amount of time.

After a while, the city was gone, left behind, and fields of fresh-turned earth and tender shoots of alfalfa took its place. Tony flipped the radio off and the silence pressed in, more quiet than Steve had ever heard in his entire life. He and his mother had planned a trip to the Grand Canyon after graduation. They’d been saving for it for years. Steve wondered if this was what it was going to be like. This silence. This peace.

“What do you think?” Tony asked.

Steve smiled. “I like it,” he said quietly. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “We’re almost there. I think you’ll like that too.”

Steve turned his head to look at Tony, frowning just a little. “Where are we going?”

Tony shrugged. “Thought we’d run away.”

Steve’s frown deepened. 

“That’s what you wanted to do, wasn’t it?”

Steve shifted in his seat, turning a little to look at Tony closely. Part of him wondered if Tony was making fun of him, but it was a small part. As much as he liked to tease, Tony wasn’t mean-spirited. He’d never take something Steve said and twist it to hurt him. “Really?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “It will just be for today, but...yeah. If that’s okay?”

“Just for today?”

Tony nodded. “Just for today.”

Steve let out a breath and rested his head against the seat back. His eyes were still on Tony. Now that he was looking at him, he couldn’t seem to look away. He reached out a hand and touched Tony’s where it sat on the gear-shift. Tony immediately grasped it and held it tight. “I’ll take a day,” Steve said. “If that’s what I get. I’ll take it.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and ran his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “Me too.”

“Tony? Do you think, since it’s just for today, that we could...pretend everything’s okay? Between us, I mean? Do you think we could pretend that nothing’s changed?”

Tony huffed out a laugh. Steve heard the relief in it. And the happiness. “God, I’d fucking love that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, then raised a not-quite-certain eyebrow, “...baby?”

Steve blinked rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the tears that were suddenly there threatening to fall, and lifted Tony’s hand to his mouth. He kissed his knuckles. Turned it over, and kissed the inside of his wrist, delighting in that smooth skin, the familiarity of it. The scent. The taste. Beside him, Tony breathed a sigh into the quiet, and Steve kept his head bent, now kissing Tony’s palm, his fingers, taking everything he could, while he could, because if today was what he had--just today--he was going to use it. Take it. Soak it up like a sponge. All the love. All the light. All the everything Tony would let him have, so he could take it with him when he went. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going to happen. Where he was going to end up. He knew there were dark days ahead of him. Dark and bloody. And he wanted this. This little bit of light to take with him. To remember what the light had felt like when he held it in his hands.

He kissed Tony’s hand one final time, lingering with his lips on the base of his thumb, then took it away from his mouth. He didn’t let go of it, though. He kept holding it in both of his own, and when Tony had to steal it back to down-shift on the turns, Steve took it back again when he was done, and when they stopped at a small country store to buy drinks and sandwiches, Steve held it in his as often as he could. He ignored the offended looks a couple of people in the store gave them. They didn’t matter. What mattered was that Tony didn’t let go either. What mattered was that Tony called him ‘baby’ when he asked him what kind of sandwich he wanted, and if he wanted mustard or mayo. What mattered was Tony. The light he gave off. The warmth. What mattered was that it belonged to him again. 

Just for today.

Once they left the store, it didn’t take long to get to the house on the lake. Tony turned down a long, rambling dirt road enclosed on both sides by pines, and then it opened up, and there was the lake, a sparkling jewel in a golden setting. Steve drew in a breath, and he felt Tony looking at him, felt the satisfaction in his glance, happy that Steve was happy.

Tony coasted to a stop, and Steve opened the door and got out. He looked around at the tall trees, the meadow of wildflowers just getting their full bloom in this late-May morning, the sandy beach, the dock leading out into the lake itself. Steve didn’t think he had ever seen anything quite as beautiful in his entire life. He’d been out of the city a few times, sure, but this felt like another world. A quiet, peaceful world that was sacred and soft around the edges. A world where no one hurt, and there were no wars that needed to be fought. No angry, condescending parents. No worries, no fears, just a chance for harmony and the gentle lapping of the lake on the beach.

“Do you like it?” Tony asked, coming up beside him.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“I thought you might.”

“You own this?”

Tony shrugged. “Most of it, I guess. At least this side. I’m not sure where the property line is, but I’m pretty sure it’s a bunch of it.” He gestured vaguely behind him, at the small house and what lay beyond that. “It goes into the woods back there too. There’s a fence. I followed it a couple times when I was a kid, but I got tired and had to turn around and come back.”

Steve laughed nervously. “I think I’d be afraid of getting lost.”

“You’d have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“Remember what happened to the breadcrumbs?”

Tony grinned. “Oh. Right. Fuck the breadcrumbs then. Just get some neon spray-paint.”

Steve laughed, and started toward the dock. Tony matched him step-for-step, and when they reached the edge, they stood looking out at the water. There were a few houses on the other side, Steve saw. What might have been a market, judging from the cars parked around in front of it. He smiled, then looked down at the water. It was clear. He could see to the bottom, the little rocks and plants that were down there.

“Can we swim in it?” he asked. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to rip his clothes off and back-flip off the edge of the dock into the water below. He could do it. He was a good swimmer. He’d learned at the YMCA when he was a kid.

Tony shook his head. “I think it might still be too cold.”

Steve frowned, pouting a little. “Really?”

“Yeah. If we came up in July, it would be okay, but now…” he shook his head again.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his happiness dimming a little. “July. Right.”

Tony sighed, as if realizing, just the way Steve had done, that July was something that would not happen. Not this year, anyway. Maybe never.

“It’s okay,” Steve said quickly, trying to put the sadness out of his mind, and his voice. “There’s probably fish in there right? I don’t know if I like the idea of a fish brushing up against me while I swam, anyway.”

“No?” Tony asked, and Steve could tell he was trying too. Trying to get past the idea of the July that wasn’t. “You don’t want to swim with the fishes, huh? Better than sleeping with them.”

Steve laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Bullshit, Steven. It’s exactly what you meant.”

“It’s what _you_ would have meant, but not me. I just don’t want one touching me.” He shuddered dramatically.

“Would you be scared?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s find out,” Tony said, and gave him a playful shove. 

“Hey!” Steve squawked, and stumbled toward the edge. 

There was absolutely no chance of him falling over, they both knew it--the shove had been really no more than a nudge, and Steve’s reflexes were awesome--but Tony grabbed him around the shoulders and held onto him anyway. Steve let him hold on. In fact, he eased backward into his grip, resting against him, relishing the way Tony’s arms tightened around him, the way he burrowed his cheek into that magical hollow between Steve’s shoulder blades. Steve thought this was what Tony had wanted. Just a reason to put his arms around him. A reason to hold him. And that was fine with Steve. It was perfect.

“Saved ya,” Tony murmured into Steve’s back. He didn’t let go. He kept his arms around him, kept his cheek against Steve’s faded denim jacket.

Steve ducked his head until he could press his lips against Tony’s wrist. “Yeah, you did,” he agreed.

Tony let out a breath. “Steve-” he began, but Steve shook his head and gripped Tony’s wrists firmly in his hands.

“No,” he said. “No, don’t. Everything’s okay, remember?”

“Don’t you think we should talk-”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Tony,” Steve insisted. “Nothing’s changed. Everything’s okay, so there’s nothing to talk about.” He felt Tony’s muscles tense. Felt him getting frustrated. But Steve didn’t want to talk about anything hard right now. He didn’t. He just wanted this quiet for a little while. He just wanted what Tony had promised him--a day to run away. From everything. He wanted it. “Please?” he said quietly. “Tony, please? Can we talk about it later?”

“But _will_ we talk about it later?” Tony asked. “Or are you going to put me off again? ‘Cause I really think we need to.”

Steve nodded. “Yes. Okay? Yes. We’ll talk about it. We can stop somewhere on the way home. We can stop and talk about whatever you want to talk about. I promise.” He turned his head, trying to catch Tony’s eye. “But not right now. Please?”

The tension remained in Tony’s body for a moment longer, and then he eased. Steve felt him nod against his back. “Okay,” he said. “Later.”

“Later.”

“Okay.”

“Can we go for a walk?”

Tony laughed softly and squeezed him tight before letting him go. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Steve slipped his hand into Tony’s, smiling when it closed easily over his. “Just on the beach though, ‘kay?” he said. “I didn’t bring any spray paint.”

Tony smiled. It was a little sad, but Steve was glad to see it. “Next time,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “In July. When we come up in July. Right?”

Tony lifted Steve’s hand to his mouth. “Yeah,” he whispered. “In July.” He kissed Steve’s hand, then scrubbed away a tear with the back of his own. “In July, we’ll bring spray paint, and breadcrumbs, and we’ll go swimming.”

“And we can build a bonfire on the beach.”

They started walking. Hand-in-hand. Back down the dock and then turned west. 

“We’ll bring marshmallows too,” Tony said. “Make s’mores.”

“Sam can play the guitar,” Steve said. “Maybe he can come too.”

“And Nat. And Clint.”

“In July,” Steve said and moved closer to Tony, holding his arm along with his hand.

Tony reached up and kissed Steve’s smooth cheek. He nodded. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “In July.”

\---

They stayed until afternoon, walking the beach, talking like nothing was wrong. Tony found the key hung on a hook high in the eaves, and they went inside the cabin. It was small but clean. Howard had a guy come in and check on it every week, and someone else come in and dust and vacuum once a month. Tony had never been sure why he did it--it wasn’t like they came up on any father-son fishing trips or anything--but he was glad. He led Steve in by the hand and tossed the key down on the little table by the door. Steve looked around the room, his lips curving into a tiny smile.

“What do you think?” Tony asked, putting the bag with their sodas and sandwiches in the kitchen. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve said. “It feels-” he stopped, shook his head.

“Feels like what?”

Steve shrugged. “‘Don’t know,” he said. “Like...like a home, I guess.”

Tony laughed and clasped his arms around Steve’s waist. They hadn’t kissed. Not really. Just hands. Just cheeks. But now, he stretched on his toes and pressed his lips to Steve’s soft ones. Steve sighed into it, like it was a relief. “It _does_ feel like a home,” Tony said. “But only because you’re here. It’s never felt like that before.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and tucked his face into his neck. “I’m glad.”

“Me too, baby.”

Steve ignored the tears that were trying to fall. They shouldn’t be there. Everything was okay. Everything was okay, so there was no need for tears. He wiped them hurriedly away, using the gesture to pull Tony closer, hold him tighter. 

“Hey,” Tony said softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m good. I’m really good.”

Tony ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Steve’s neck, pressed his thumb into the muscle there. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.” And he was. He was good. But for some reason, the tears still wanted to fall. They still seemed to be caught in his throat. He blinked rapidly, trying hard to get rid of them, but they were stubborn. Resistant. Steve could think of only one way to get rid of them, and so he did it. Or said it, anyway. “I miss you, Tony.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “I can’t eat. I haven’t been able to sleep. I-”

“Shhh,” Tony soothed, brushing his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing his neck, his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s okay, remember?”

“No, it’s not,” he said. “Nothing’s okay.” He laughed brokenly. “Nothing. We might never even see each other again after today.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It might. It _could_.” He held Tony tighter, and now there was no way to stop the tears. They came hard and fast. “We graduate in two days. Me and my mom are leaving as soon as the ceremony is over. We’ll be gone for three weeks, and by the time we get back, you’ll be gone. Then by the time _you_ get back, _I’ll_ be gone. Three years, Tony.” He laughed again. It stuck in Tony’s ears like barbed wire. “Three fucking _years_. What was I thinking? Christ, Tony, what was I _thinking_?”

“I-” Tony began, then stopped. Shook his head. “Our future, baby,” he managed. “You were thinking about our future. About us.”

“Stupid,” Steve spat. “I was so fucking stupid. What can I give you, Tony? Huh?” He pulled himself out of Tony’s arms with a jerk of his shoulders. “God, even with whatever I make in the army, it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be what you’re used to. It wouldn’t be what you _deserve_ -”

“Hey,” Tony said sharply. “Hey, you need to stop. Stop talking about what you can give me, Steve. I don’t care about any of that, and you know it.” He grasped Steve’s arms. “Baby. Baby, you’re all I ever wanted. And, it’s not like you’re the only one who’d be working. I’m going to be working at SI after I graduate. I’ll have plenty of money. More than we could ever even spend. You wouldn’t even have to work if you didn’t want-”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be real great,” Steve said, folding his arms. “I could just stay home. Work on my _art_. Maybe fuck the gardener when I get bored in the afternoons. Isn’t that what rich housewives do?”

“Jesus Christ, that’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what it would look like,” Steve said, his voice rising. “To anybody. To _everybody_ . ‘I see Tony Stark got himself a pretty guy to hang off his arm.’ ‘Oh yeah? What does he do?’ ‘Oh, you know. He’s into _art.’”_

Tony shook his head, ran an incredulous hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea who you sound like right now?” he asked. 

“Yeah, well, maybe your father knows more than I gave him credit for. Maybe he was right about everything all along.”

“Don’t say that,” Tony said levelly. “Don’t you ever say that.”

Steve glanced around the house, taking in the cozy room, the fireplace. The bedroom door stood open. He’d hoped they’d end up in there today. Lying together. Doing things to each other. Making each other happy one last time. But, no. Not now. That wouldn’t happen now. It couldn’t. He wiped his eyes with his forearm. Swallowed back the last of his tears. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said. “I don’t want to fight here.”

“Then let’s stop fighting and just talk.”

Steve shook his head. “No. No. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

“You can’t run away from this forever, Steve,” Tony snapped.

“I don’t have to,” Steve said. “‘Cause we’re done, right? I mean, even if I hadn’t joined, we would still be done.”

Tony stepped toward him. His eyes were dark, wide, and watchful. “What are you talking about?”

Steve sat down on the sofa. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face tiredly. He was exhausted. Hurt. Like his heart had just been pulled out of his chest, and then sent through a shredder for good measure. And it was his own fault. He knew it. He didn’t blame Tony. Tony who had been so good to him. Who had treated him with such love and care over the last months. Who never saw him as ‘mediocre’. Tony who deserved every good thing that this life had to offer. 

Tony who didn’t realize that sometimes you didn’t get to have it all. Who didn’t realize that wasn’t always possible.

“I shouldn’t have let it go this far,” Steve said quietly. “When I saw the way things were--really _saw_ , you know--I should have walked away. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I was too focused on what _I_ wanted to think about what you needed.” He looked up at Tony’s face. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

Tony came to him and dropped to his knees in front of him. He gripped Steve’s hands tightly. So tightly Steve could feel the bones in his fingers grinding together, but he didn’t mind. This would probably be the last time Tony ever touched him. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel every little thing about it. “Baby,” Tony pleaded. “What are you talking about?”

Steve smiled sadly, trying not to let his shredded heart show in his eyes, but he was pretty sure some of it came through anyway. “You’re special, Tony,” he said. “You’re smart. You’re kind. You’re-” he laughed. “You’re the best thing in the whole world.”

Tony put his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. “No. No, baby, you are.”

“See?” Steve said. “That’s what I mean. The best thing in the whole world. And you never would have broken up with me, would you?”

“Why would I break up with you? I love you.”

“And that’s what you would have kept telling yourself,” Steve said placidly. “No matter how many people you met at your school, or at Stark Industries, or at the parties and stuff you’d go to for work. No matter that they were all smart like you. And you had way more in common with them. And they fit in with your life better than I ever could. You’d still tell yourself, ‘But I love him. I can’t leave him. I love him.’”

Tony was shaking his head, a stubborn, pained look printed on his features. “No,” he said. “No, baby, it wouldn’t be like that. I _do_ love you. And yeah, that’s what I’d be saying, because it’d be true. I love you now, and I’ll love you then.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed, still speaking in that serene way that belied the way his guts were twisting. His heart was shredding. He had to do this. Howard had been right. If he didn’t do this now, he would just be being selfish. “But those other people-”

“Fuck those ‘other people’,” Tony flared. “They’re not even real. They’re hypothetical. You’re making them up.”

“They’re not hypothetical, Tony. You already met them. They’re there. They’re there, and at MIT, you’re going to be with them every single day. You’re going to see them, and talk to them, and go out for coffee with them after class. While I’d be back here stocking shelves, you’d be doing projects with them, and experiments, and-” he gestured with one hand, taking in everything and nothing, “-and telling them jokes you can’t tell me because I wouldn’t understand them in a thousand years. And pretty soon-”

“So what? So what does-”

“-And pretty soon, you’d start thinking about them when you were with me. You’d start thinking about what you’d be doing back at school if you didn’t have to come home and hang out with me for the weekend, going to movies, and sitting in the park, and all that other stupid, basic shit that you could do with anybody. You’d think of something you could say to them that you can’t say to me. You’d think-"

“Stop telling me what I’d be thinking!” Tony shouted and jumped to his feet. “God, is that the kind of person you think I am? That I’d be so wrapped up in all that shit that I wouldn’t be happy being with you? _God_ .” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned a furious eye back at Steve. “And just in case you didn’t realize it, I _like_ going to the movies with you. I _like_ sitting around in the park, and hanging out at your house, and listening to music with you, and talking to you. I don’t think about ‘other people’ when we’re together, Steve. I don’t. All I think about when we’re together is you.”

Steve put his head in his hands again. “Me too,” he said faintly, then lifted his head up enough to look at those hands. Pale. Large. Strong. But they couldn’t hold onto anything. Not anything real. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. ‘Cause I won’t even be here to go to the movies, will I? I’ll be over there. Doing-” he laughed that brittle, broken laugh again, and Tony shuddered because he’d heard it before. From his father. “-Doing whatever it is I’ll be doing over there. Fighting. Or trying to stop people from fighting. Or whatever, I guess. Whatever they tell me to do.”

“Don’t go,” Tony said. “Don’t. We can still fix this, baby. But you can’t go.”

“No. I’m going.”

Tony came and knelt in front of him again. He put his hands on Steve’s knees. Looked at him with a great patience. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. We’ll just make it work like that, then. We can write to each other. Every day. And call. And you’ll have leaves? Right? I mean, you’ll come home sometimes. Maybe I could even come over there a couple times. Maybe-”

Steve shook his head slowly. “I-I can’t, Tony. I can’t do it that way.”

“But-”

“No,” Steve said with dreadful finality. “I’m not going to let you put your life on hold. _I_ made this decision. I did it on my own. Without even asking you. It was my mistake. I’m not going to let you pay for it.”

“I’m already paying for it,” Tony said. “What’s another few years?”

“It’ll be okay,” Steve said. “You’ll be okay.” But he didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. He bowed his head and looked at Tony’s hands instead. Saw the way they lay on his own knees. So perfect. So pretty. So finely-made. He wanted to hold them again. Kiss them. Run his lips over the pads of the fingers, trace the lines of the palms with his tongue. He shook his head minutely. No. No. Stop thinking about it. He couldn’t do it. He could never do it again.

Tony was looking at him, though. He could feel it. Feel those deep, dark, bad eyes boring into him. “What do you mean ‘I’ll be okay’?”

“I mean you’ll be okay. It’ll only hurt for a little while.”

“Wait. Are you breaking up with me?”

His hands tried to move to grasp Tony’s, but he resisted. He couldn’t touch him. If he did, this would be over. He’d give in. He’d do whatever Tony wanted, and the second that happened, he would be lost. And so would Tony. Steve would drag him down with him instead of letting him fly, and he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. “I don’t want us to make any promises,” he said. “If we don’t make any promises, then neither of us can break one.”

“But-” those eyes. Drilling into him. Begging him to look into them. “But you’re still my boyfriend, right?”

Steve looked up at last. Looked up and met those gorgeous eyes that he had dreamed about for too many years. But maybe that was better. Maybe that was the way it was meant to be. Maybe someone like him was only meant to have someone like Tony in dreams. “I’ll always be yours, Tony,” he whispered in a voice husked with emotion.

Tony’s brow furrowed and those eyes got darker, even more intense. Steve couldn’t look away now if he tried. He was held in their thrall. “But that’s not the same thing, is it?” he asked. “Is it, Steve?”

Steve shook his head slowly from side to side. “No. I guess it’s not.”

Tony stood up then, pushing himself off the ground, using the flats of his palms on Steve’s knees to help him rise. “We should go,” he said, and Steve heard the chilly tone of his voice. Saw the change in him happen immediately, and he mourned it, grieved for it, but let it happen. It was easier that way. For both of them.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We should.”

“Yeah. It’s a long drive. I’ll grab the bag. Do you want to eat?”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“‘Kay. Gotta pee?”

“I’m good.”

“Let’s go then.”

“Okay.”

They went outside, blinking into the sun. It was still bright, and Steve wondered how that could possibly be. He’d left his sun back in the cabin. Why wasn’t it dark out?

He waited by the car while Tony locked the cabin door, hung the key up, stretching to do it, exposing that sliver of skin Steve so loved, then came back to the car. He unlocked it, and they both got in, settling into place.

“You don’t need to drive me the whole way,” Steve said. “You can just drop me off at the nearest bus station.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve,” he answered flippantly. “It’s absolutely fine. I’ll drive you home.”

Steve just nodded. For some reason, that hurt worse than anything. That cocktail party tone. That don’t-be-ridiculous answer. It was like a knife on his skin. He turned away, turned his knees to the door, laid his head on the window. “Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes. _You brought this on yourself_ , he thought. _You bought it, now just live with it._ And he would...but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Tony turned the radio on too loud, and they drove home, neither one speaking a word as the road unspooled behind them. Steve just watched the scenery pass by. They were the same tall pines and close, lush, green underbrush as when they came up, but it didn’t seem as magical now. Now it seemed darker, scarier, more sinister, and he was glad when it started to recede. When the city started to reassert itself. When the billboards popped up, and the first warehouses came into view. When the skyscrapers showed up on the horizon. The traffic got worse. It was what he was used to. It was home.

Tony snapped the radio off as they got closer, and the street noise rushed in to take its place, but it still seemed quiet after the screech of guitar and banging drums they’d had for the last two hours. The sun was starting to set, and the smog painted the sky red-orange. Steve looked at it. Looked at the dying sun. He wondered what the sunset would look like over the lake. Wondered what it was going to look like in the desert.

Tony guided the car to his old spot in front of Steve’s building. He shut it off. “We’re here,” he said. His voice had lost that cold sound. Now it was just quiet. Just sad.

“‘Kay,” Steve answered, but made no move to get out. The tears from earlier were back. He didn’t want to cry. He’d cried enough. He bit his lip, breathing through it, trying to keep them at bay. He brushed them away with one covert fist, and then unbuckled his seat-belt. “Guess I’ll see you at graduation,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Steve nodded. “Okay. Well...see you.”

He reached for the door handle, felt the cool metal against his fingers, but when Tony spoke, he froze. 

“Just because you’re not my boyfriend anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to stop loving you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Steve turned to him. Tony wasn’t crying, but his face was very pale. His eyes even darker in the gloom. “I’m not going to stop loving you either,” Steve said. His lip was trembling. He had always been the more emotional of the two of them. Tony could keep it in check. Steve never could. But he tried. Right now, he tried very hard. “I’ll always love you. I’ll love you forever.” He knew he shouldn’t--fucking _knew_ it--but he touched Tony’s hand where it sat on the console between them. Touched the long fingers. Brushed his own along them. He ducked his head, shy now in a way he hadn’t been in months. “Will you love me forever, Tony?” he asked, looking at him from under his lashes, needing to hear the answer, but afraid of it all the same.

Tony let out a breath, then moved his hand away from Steve’s. He moved it to the side of his neck. He stretched his thumb up and dabbed at the wetness under his eye. “Forever, baby,” he promised.

“Will-will you think about me sometimes? You know...when I’m-” 

“Christ, Steve,” Tony muttered, and pulled him to him. Steve came gratefully, allowing Tony to wrap him in his arms one last time. Letting his tears fall against Tony’s shoulder, letting his hands clutch him extra-tight. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered harshly. “Tony, I’m so sorry.” Tony’s hand fisted in his hair. It hurt a little, but Steve didn’t care. He wanted the hurt. It felt good. “Don’t hate me,” he said, his voice muffled by Tony’s skin. “Please, please don’t hate me. I couldn’t stand it if I thought you hated me.”

“Shh,” Tony said. “I don’t hate you.” He laughed a little, sniffed back his own tears. “I just said I was going to love you forever, didn’t I? You think I say that to all the guys?”

Steve mirrored Tony’s laughter and held him tighter, never wanting to let him go. “No,” he said. “I don’t. It’s just me. It’ll always be just me, ‘cause I’ll be the only one stupid enough to let you go.”

“That’s not why it’ll always be just you, baby,” Tony said. “It’ll always be you because you’re my everything.” He kissed Steve’s neck. His shoulder. His cheek. Everywhere he could reach. “You’ll always be my everything.”

Steve shook his head. “No promises, remember?”

Tony pressed his forehead against Steve’s, holding him tight with his hand, the other curled into Steve’s denim jacket. “That’s not a promise, baby,” he said. “It’s just a fact. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Forever. Okay?”

Steve knew he should protest. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to. Howard could say what he wanted, think what he wanted, and Steve knew that he was right, but right now, he didn’t care if it was selfish. He _wanted_ Tony to love him forever. Even if it was just a little bit. He wanted to go to bed every night knowing that Tony might be thinking about him. Might be sitting at his desk, listening to a professor drone on, and think about studying together in the self-help section of the library. He wanted to know that Tony might be out on a date somewhere, or driving in his car, and when The Eagles came on the radio, he’d remember their first time--a lazy afternoon a million years ago in Steve’s tiny twin bed that still seemed to be big enough to hold them both. Every time. Every time they were together. 

He nodded without lifting his head from where it rested against Tony’s. “Okay,” he said. “Forever.”

“And ever and ever,” Tony said.

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Steve blinked fast, smiled. “Buffalo.”

Tony laughed and shook his head. “Really embraced that whole thing, didn’t you?”

Steve shrugged. “I just thought it was funny.”

Tony inclined his head until their lips met. It was brief, soft, sweet. “Buffalo.”

Steve pulled out of his hands, opened the car door. “I love you, Tony,” he said, then slipped out of the car and went inside without looking back.

\---

Graduation came and went. Sarah cried. She sat with Sam’s mother, the two women holding hands and crying together. Howard stood in the back. He didn’t cry. Sarah hugged and kissed Steve and Sam, then left them with Sam’s mother and found Tony in the crowd.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” she said, coming up behind him. 

Tony fell into her arms. Neither of them looked at Howard as they embraced. “Thanks, Mrs. Rogers,” he whispered.

“You come see me, okay?” she said into his ear. “You’re always welcome, sweetheart. Always wanted. Okay?”

He nodded against her. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Thank you.”

She kissed his cheek. “See you soon?” 

“Yeah. Very soon.”

She wiped her lipstick off his cheek with her thumb, then turned to Howard. “Have a nice day, Mr. Stark,” she said.

He nodded in answer. 

\---

The Grand Canyon was everything. Sarah cried when they looked over the edge.

Steve did too.

EIGHTEEN 

It was raining when they got to the bus station. 

It wasn’t cold--thank god for summer in the city--but it was very wet. Steve, Sam, and Sarah got out of the cab she had hired. Sam held an umbrella while Steve got his bag out of the trunk of the car. Sarah clutched Sam tightly. She had held onto Steve’s hand for the entire car ride from home, but when he got out of the car, she held Sam’s instead. She had to. She needed a tether. She was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t have it. Sam didn’t mind. He held her back just as tightly. He was not shipping out for a couple more months--his birthday wasn’t until September--so he was saying good-bye too. His heart was breaking almost as much as Sarah’s. He felt like he was losing his best friend.

“Do you have everything?” Sarah asked, and Steve smiled a little indulgently. It was the fourth or fifth time she had asked.

“Yeah, Mom. I got everything.”

“You’re _sure_ you got your toothbrush?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If I get home and see it sitting in the holder-”

“I bought a new one, Mom. Remember?”

She nodded. “Right.”

Steve caught Sam’s eye and they shared an amused, wordless look over the top of her head. _Moms_ , it said, but it was fond. Very fond.

She reached out and grasped Steve’s hand in her free one. The bus was sitting at the curb, idling in the early-morning dim. Other families crowded around their own departing soldiers, little knots of people hugging and kissing young men and women who all looked excited but nervous, their eyes making darting little glances at the bus and their watches, gauging the last few seconds they had before they were swallowed up inside of it and taken to the airport where they would fly to Georgia.

“You’ll write to me every day, do you hear me?” she said, and he nodded. “And you’ll call me at every available opportunity. Okay? No. Exceptions.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Sam nodded at Sarah. “What she said.”

Steve laughed a little and put his arms around Sam. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?” Steve whispered in his ear.

“For as long as I can,” he answered. “Then my mom and dad will. I already talked to them. It’s okay. Don’t worry about that.”

“I _will_ worry.”

Sam chuckled. “I know you will.”

“I’ll worry about you, too.”

“Me too.”

Steve pulled away. The other recruits were shuffling toward the bus now, and Steve looked at his watch. 6:01. He drew in a deep breath, let it shakily out. The nerves were there. The fear settling in. 

Sarah reached for him. “Come here,” she said. “I know you have to go, but come here.”

Steve sunk into her embrace, holding her tightly. He felt lost at the thought of being without her. What would he do? How would he survive? She’d been his one constant his entire life. Everyone else had come and gone, but not her. She was his solid space. His soft landing. Was there anything for him if he didn’t have her?

“Mom-” he began, but she shook her head. Her tears were flowing, mixing with the rain on her cheeks. 

“No,” she said. “No. Go. Go right now, or I won’t be able to _let_ you go.”

“But-”

“No. Steven. Go."

He nodded, and she kissed him one last time, hard on his cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, honey. My sweet, sweet boy.”

“Let’s go!” 

Steve looked over his shoulder, saw the last stragglers climbing on the bus. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said.

“Go on, man.”

Steve gave them one last look. Sam, his best friend. His mother, wearing his favorite blue dress. There was a chance, however small, that he would never see them again. And if this was to be the last time, he wanted to burn it into his memory. The two of them, standing close together in the rain.

Steve tried to smile, gave it his all, and he made it, but just barely.

He didn’t say anything else. He just jogged toward the bus and climbed up inside. He tried not to think as the bus pulled away from the curb. Tried not to think about where he was going. That he was going there alone. That he wouldn’t have Sam, or his mother, or…

Steve turned in his seat, his eyes widening. 

No. No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. That flash of red could have been anybody’s car. It was a popular color for sports cars. Tony was in California. Not here.

“Hey. You okay?”

Steve turned back, looking at the guy who had spoken. The guy in the seat across from him. “Um. Yeah. I guess.”

“You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Steve laughed a little. Ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I did.”

The guy flapped a hand at the window. “Aw, New York’s full of ghosts.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s what my girlfriend says anyway.” He tipped his head from side to side. “She mighta been talking about all her old boyfriends, though.”

Steve barked out a short, surprised laugh, and the guy joined him. Steve held out his hand. “I’m Steve.”

The guy shook his hand across the aisle. “James. But most people call me Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got this pretty well mapped out, but I never know for absolute certain what's going to happen in my stories until it's down on the metaphorical paper. I thought Bucky was going to show up here, and yay! He did!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-one. Part One.
> 
> A chance meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gggaaaaaahhhhh. I'm the worst. I have re-written this five hundred times in my head, and five times in reality. It's not done. There's still some left on this section, but I have to get this away from me. I can't re-write it anymore. So, here's this part of the section. I'll post the second part of it in a couple days as a new chapter. If you want to wait and read them both together as one, that would totally work, but I think this was the best breaking-point. Sorry.

TWENTY-ONE 

He never thought he’d see him again. That was the thing.

He thought, three years ago when he watched him--from a safe distance, of course--hug his mother and Sam good-bye, and climb up onto that bus, that that would be the end of it. They might write to each other a couple of times, or maybe call once or twice, but Steve had made it clear they were over. And even when he was on leave, New York was a big town. Lots of land mass. Lots of people. And Tony didn’t even live here full-time anymore. Neither of them did. Tony split his time between MIT, California, and Manhattan, and Steve...well, Steve lived halfway across the world. How in Christ’s name would he ever see him again? No, he thought that they were done. Like Steve had said. Right up until tonight, Tony sincerely thought he had seen the last of Steven Grant Rogers. 

But there he was.

Tony watched him walk into the bar. How he had happened to glance up at that particular moment, how his eyes had found the door at that crucial second, was beyond him. He didn’t even try to figure it out. He just accepted it as one of those chance things. One of those one-in-a-billion circumstances that so many people call “fate”. 

He _shouldn’t_ have looked up. He was here with Natasha and a few of her other friends, celebrating Nat’s birthday. They were drinking, and laughing, and dancing, all of them having fun. Tony was sitting at their table, sipping his drink. His boyfriend, Josh, was curled around him, whispering in his ear. Beneath the table, Josh’s hand was resting high up on his thigh, massaging it a little, and Tony was feeling pretty good. Calm. Comfortable. Not hard, but feeling pretty confident that he could get there whenever he and Josh finally decided to leave. They had a suite at a hotel downtown. They’d already defiled the bed and the shower. He thought the sofa--and maybe the balcony, in spite of the chilly night air--might be on tonight’s itinerary.

So, no, he shouldn’t have looked up. He should have been paying closer attention to Josh, to the words he was saying, to the hand on his thigh, moving upwards a little at a time, moving toward his cock with every second that passed. And he _was_. He _was_ paying attention, but for some reason, some stupid, fucked-up reason he couldn’t quite grasp, he found his eyes straying to the door. Watching it. Not constantly, but often. Especially over the last ten minutes. Almost like he was expecting someone. Almost like he was waiting-

And then, there he was.

And everything else was gone.

He looked different. Older. Tougher. He had always been lean and strong, but now, even with his jacket on, Tony could see how chiseled his body was. His cheekbones looked higher. His jawline, sharper. His skin--that perpetually pale skin--had gotten darker, colored by the desert sun, and Tony wondered fleetingly how many times it had burned and peeled before finally giving in and tanning. His hair, that soft, silky blond, had gotten darker too, highlighted with golden streaks where the sun had left its mark there. The texture looked different. Like it had gotten coarser. Tony studied it, not feeling Josh’s hand finally brush up against his crotch. He studied it like he studied any problem. And it was a problem. For him, anyway. Because he wanted to feel it again--or for the first time, maybe--to see what it felt like now. If it felt different. If it slipped through his hand with silky ease like it used to, or if it felt foreign and strange against the thin, sensitive skin between his fingers.

“I wish I could suck you off right here,” Josh was saying, his hand moving on Tony’s cock. “Just crawl under the table, and put my lips around your dick. You taste so good, babe. Do you want me to do that? Would you like that?”

“Sure,” Tony said faintly, not even hearing what he was saying. Steve--oh my god, that was _Steve_ \--was taking his jacket off, the thin black sweater he was wearing pulling taut against his chest, and Tony’s intuition had been right. His body had gotten harder. It had always been beautiful, but now it was insane. And Tony wanted to go to him, tear his shirt off, and stare at him. Not even touch him. At least not yet. Just look at him. Look at the way his skin covered his muscles. Look at the ripples of those muscles. Look, and catalogue, and file away the changes. Compare and contrast the reality to his memory. And then, when that was done, he’d touch him. Just lightly. Just delicate little brushes of his hand. Just testing the texture. He was a facts and figures kind of guy. He needed data. He required it. He _desired_ it. And his hands were his greatest tools. He knew that. They were more sensitive than any calibration device known to man--at least when it came to Steve Rogers. He would trust only them to this task. He would-

“Babe.”

Would there be new marks? New and different callouses? _Scars?_ Jesus Christ, would he have _scars_ now?

“Tony!”

Tony tore his gaze away from Steve. He shook his head a little, unconsciously. “Huh?”

“Do you know that guy?”

Tony blinked. Swallowed. Josh. Right. His boyfriend. _Current_ boyfriend. “Uh. Which guy?”

“The one you’ve been staring at for ten minutes.”

He said it in a low pout, his eyes flashing with jealousy. Tony smiled at him indulgently. Kissed his lips. “Sorry honey,” he said. “And yes. I do know him. We were friends in high school. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

“Friends?” Josh asked. “What kind of friends?”

Tony smiled. “Just-” _Will you love me forever, Tony?_ “-Just friends.”

“Are you sure about that?”

 _Forever, baby. Forever and ever_. “I’m sure.”

Josh had moved away from him a bit, but now he cuddled closer again. He was Tony’s height. Thin, lithe, dark hair, green eyes. Very red lips. Very easy to look at. They had met in chemistry class, and Tony had been intrigued by how intelligent he was. How he was always either a point ahead or a point behind Tony when their grades were posted. He’d asked him out for a drink six months ago, and when Josh asked him back to his apartment afterward, Tony had said yes with no qualms. And why not? He and Pepper saw each other a little, but it wasn’t exclusive. Neither one of them were very interested in being exclusive with each other at this point in their lives, and he always carried plenty of condoms, so he was happy to go up to Josh’s room with him. Happy to get on his knees for a while. Happy to roll one of those condoms onto his cock and--even though he usually preferred to be the fuckee instead of the fucker when it came to men--slide into Josh, making him moan out his name. 

They had been seeing each other regularly ever since. Tony wasn’t sure how long it would last. He knew it wouldn’t be forever. He was still young. He wasn’t thinking about forever--at least not anymore--but they got along well, and up until this moment, Tony had thought they would at least last a few more months. But now. Well, now he wasn’t so sure.

Now he wasn’t so sure about anything.

“Are you going to go over and say hi?” Josh asked. His hand had found its way back onto Tony’s thigh. He kissed his cheek. His ear.

“Maybe,” Tony answered.

“Just maybe?”

“Yup. Just maybe.”

He looked back at the bar. Josh, occupied with kissing him, didn’t notice. At least, Tony assumed he didn’t notice, but he had kind of forgotten about Josh again. Steve was turned in profile, and all Tony could see was the sharp jut of his jaw. The soft pout of his lips. He was talking to the guy sitting next to him. Tony thought it was the guy he’d come in with, but he couldn’t say for sure. He’d been a bit too preoccupied with the sight of Steve himself when he came through the door to pay much attention to his companion, but he was paying attention now. He was maybe a little shorter than Steve, a little smaller, but he had dark hair and eyes that popped even in the dim room. Tony felt a frozen ice-pick stab of jealousy go directly through his heart.

Especially when the guy said something that made Steve laugh. 

Because that was _Tony’s_ job. Making Steve laugh had _always_ been Tony’s job. 

Sure, he may not have had much occasion to do it lately, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be fired from it. Or pass it on to someone else. Or watch that someone else do it. Or _think about_ some fucking someone else doing it. No, that wasn’t in the plan. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Not the way they were supposed to _be_ . Steve was supposed to laugh at _Tony’s_ jokes. Just his. Not some stupid fucking soldier-type with a jawline as strong as Steve’s, and blue eyes that Tony thought looked just a little less soulful than Steve’s, but maybe more prone to sarcastic humor of the type Tony himself specialized in, and just what the fuck, Steven Grant Rogers? Huh? Trading up? Is that what he thought he was doing?

And Steve wasn’t even looking at him. 

Hadn’t even noticed him.

Well, fuck you too, then, Steve Rogers.

Tony turned his attention back to Josh. He pulled him closer, slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, and kissed him hungrily. Josh kissed him back. “What were you saying about sucking me off, earlier?” Tony whispered in his ear. Josh smiled at him, and slapped at his chest a little, calling him a “bad boy”, then went back to sucking tiny bruises all along Tony’s neck, littering his skin with them like badges of honor. 

Tony spread his legs a bit and hooked one over Josh’s calf. They were being pretty brazen with this little make-out session, but it was okay. Tony didn’t mind being looked at. He wouldn’t mind if everyone in the place pulled up a chair and took notes. But, of course, the one person who _should_ have been looking, _wasn’t_ looking. Tony huffed a little, and pulled Josh even closer. He stared at Steve. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been able to help it when it came to Steve.

\---

He was _Holding It Together_. He really was. 

He’d kind of become a master of _Holding It Together._ He thought everyone in his line of work did. You had to. If you wanted to survive another day in that crushing heat and the feeling of low-grade but ever-present dread, you _had_ to become a master of it. If you didn’t, you could fuck up. If you fucked up, somebody might end up dead. _You_ might end up dead. Or worse, somebody else. A kid. A grandmother. The person standing beside you. Somebody. So that’s what you did. You _Held It Together_. For everyone’s sake.

But now. Now.

He didn’t expect to see him. That was the thing. 

What were the odds? That the two of them would end up in the same place, at the same time, after three years of not seeing each other at all? He guessed they could be calculated. He guessed. But he was certainly the wrong person to do it. Tony might be able to do it…

But that would mean he’d have to dislodge his tongue from that other guy’s throat, and that didn’t look like it was going to happen any time soon.

Steve had seen him the second he came in. The second. It was as if his eyes had been drawn to that dark corner as if by some kind of magic/magnetic spell, and while he only glanced that way, his insides burst with the knowledge that Tony was here in the same room with him, after all this time, all this distance, all this _everything_ , Tony was here, and he was here. Together. But not together, really. Because someone else was here too. Someone currently whispering in Tony’s ear and blatantly palming his crotch through his jeans.

Steve felt a flare of jealousy, like a red-hot fireplace poker, go straight through his heart, setting his guts on fire with a fierce intensity he hadn’t felt in...well, ever. He ignored it. Or tried to, anyway, but Bucky had to ruin it.

“What’s with the face?” 

“What face?”

“That somebody-just-took-a-huge-piss-in-my-Cheerios face,” Bucky said. “That face.”

“Shut up, Buck,” Steve said, and out of the corner of his eye--sometimes he fucking hated peripheral vision--he saw Tony’s date kiss his cheek, then his ear. 

“Seriously, what’s…Oooohhhh.” 

Bucky had followed his gaze. And Steve wondered just how in the fuck he could do that, when Steve himself was focusing all his attention on looking like he wasn’t looking. You know. Looking like he wasn’t looking at the way Tony’s boyfriend was busy licking and sucking on him like he was an ice cream cone. And how Tony was letting it happen. Not just _letting_ it happen, but enjoying it. Encouraging it. 

“Shut _up_ , Buck.”

“Which one is it?” Bucky went on. “No, don’t tell me. The one currently getting groomed like a cat, right?”

Steve laughed. He couldn’t help it. He missed Sam like fire, but having Bucky around helped. It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same, and he couldn’t wait until he and Sam could see each other again, but Bucky was a great friend. A great guy. He made Steve laugh, and he needed that sometimes. Like a drug, he needed that. Sam had gotten that. Bucky got it. Tony used to get it too. It looked like Tony was getting a lot of other stuff instead these days.

_He wouldn’t even let me put my arm around him in public._

That searing flare of jealousy ripped through him again. 

“So, that’s the famous Tony Stark,” Bucky said. “Huh. He seems...nice.”

Steve delivered a sharp kick to his ankle, and Bucky laughed. “He _is_ nice,” Steve insisted. “But we’re over. I haven’t seen him or talked to him in three years. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Looks like he is.”

“It’s none of my business.”

Bucky slid a little closer. “Wanna pretend we’re a thing?” he asked, in a low, sultry tone that made Steve roll his eyes. “Come on, Stevie,” he said, and turned in his seat so he lay back against Steve’s broad chest and rubbed up against him. “Let’s put on a show of our own."

Steve laughed again and gave him a shove. “Get off me,” he grumbled, a blush starting to crawl out of the collar of his sweater. 

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Bucky teased. 

“Nope. Not a bit.”

Steve took a sip of his beer, watching Tony closely out of the corner of his eye, watching the guy crawl all over him, watching Tony’s hands settle on his hips. He remembered doing that with Tony himself. Remembered the way Tony’s skin had felt under the pads of his fingers. Soft. Almost silky. He took another sip and drug his eyes away. 

“Hey,” Bucky said suddenly. “Let’s go, huh? Let’s go somewhere else.”

Steve shook his head. “No. It’s okay. Let’s stay.”

“No, come on. You’re not gonna-”

“Steve?”

Steve recognized the voice, and when he turned and saw that familiar face, he couldn’t help but smile. “Natasha,” he said.

“Oh my god,” she said softly, “I thought that was you.” She put her arms around him and hugged him firmly, and over her shoulder, Steve’s eyes met Tony’s at last. 

The moment stretched out for a long time. Almost like it had that other time in the cafeteria so long ago now, when they first locked eyes across the room. Tony’s widened the slightest bit, those warm brown eyes that Steve had loved so much, that had gotten him through so many sleepless nights. Before they got together. After they got together. Even now. He still thought about them. Still dreamed about them. Just because Tony had gotten over him, didn’t mean the feeling was mutual. Steve thought about him all the time. Had never stopped thinking about him. Didn’t think he ever would stop thinking about him. And now here he was again, and they were looking at each other finally, and Steve’s whole world fell away until nothing existed but those eyes. Not even the guy currently curled up in Tony’s lap _really_ existed. He was just a prop in a stage-play. No, what existed, what mattered, were those eyes. That curve of his lips.

Nat pulled out of his arms, and that pulled Steve back into reality. He smiled at her, breathed out a little laugh. “Wow,” he said. “God, you look great,” he said.

She kept her hand on his forearm, and he was grateful for it. Grateful for that touch. It kept him focused on her, and didn’t let his eyes get drawn across the room again. “So do you. It’s been a long time.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Three years.”

“I know.”

Beside him, Bucky made an exaggerated show of clearing his throat, and Steve rolled his eyes again at Natasha. She laughed. “Nat,” Steve said, “this is Bucky. Bucky, Natasha.”

“Bucky?” she asked, holding out her hand and arching one eyebrow.

“James, really,” Bucky said, and engulfed her smaller hand with his large one. 

Steve smiled at the way they were looking at each other. There was nothing tentative about it. It was frank and direct. No shy little smiles and bashful eyelash-batting. They assessed each other with cool confidence and Steve could almost feel the electricity that sizzled between them. It was strange, feeling that from the outside. He’d had that with Tony. Every time they looked at each other for a while, he had felt like he was burning up from the inside out, but seeing it--and feeling it second-hand--between Nat and Bucky was different. He wasn’t jealous. Bucky was great, and Natasha was too. It just felt strange. Being close to it, but not being a part of it. 

He glanced at Tony again, but he wasn’t looking this way anymore. He was looking at his boyfriend. Talking to him. Steve looked away. He didn’t want to see it happening with Tony and this other guy. _That_ made him jealous. He didn’t want to be jealous. He didn’t. All of a sudden, he just wanted to drink his beer in peace and then go home. His mom was at work tonight, but he could just go to bed. The same bed. The same bed he and Tony had shared so often. 

He sighed. Maybe he didn’t want to go home, after all.

Nat touched his shoulder, drawing his eyes back to her face. “You saw Tony?” she said, nodding in his direction.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky-- _James_ \--answered before Steve could even open his mouth. “He saw. I think everybody in the place saw.”

“Buck,” Steve warned, but Nat was nodding a little.

“Yeah. Josh is a nice guy, but I think he’s got an exhibitionist kink.”

“Josh, huh?” Steve repeated, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on Natasha’s face. He didn’t want to look over there anymore. He didn’t want to see Tony and _Josh_ making out, or whatever else they were going to do. 

_He’d barely let me hold his_ hand.

“Yes,” she said, then gave Bucky a nudge, and a smile over her shoulder. “Looks like _you_ did okay, too.”

“Yeah,” Bucky scoffed. “He fucking wishes.”

“You were the one rubbing up against me, _James_.”

“Fuck you, _Stevie_.”

Nat placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “Am I going to have to muzzle you boys?” she said, and Steve couldn’t help but notice the way Bucky’s eyes gleamed when they fell on her. Looked like someone else had a little kink too.

Steve stood up. “Not me,” he said. “James here, might need one though.” Steve swallowed the rest of his beer. “I’m going to go find the restroom. Keep him in check while I’m gone, ‘kay, Nat?”

“Sure,” she said, and sat down in Steve’s seat, raising her hand to signal the bartender.

Bucky grasped his wrist before he got away. “You okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Just gonna take a little walk. Maybe get a breath of air. You’re in good hands.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Tony and Josh. “Don’t let that get to you. And whenever you’re ready to leave, we’re gone.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “‘Kay. Thanks. See you later.”

He walked away, leaving Bucky and Nat sitting side-by-side on barstools, talking. He kept an eye on them as he skirted around the bar. Bucky leaned into Natasha and said something that made her throw her head back and laugh, and Steve smiled at that. He liked the way they looked at each other. The way they looked together. He and Bucky only had one night left in town. He hoped they’d make the most of it.

He found his way into the restroom. It was crowded, and he didn’t really even need it, so he turned around and walked back out. He avoided the corner where Tony and Josh were. He avoided even looking in that direction. He didn’t need to see any more of that. He’d seen his fill. It was burned into his brain. He’d never have to see it again in person. All he’d have to do is close his eyes and there it would be. Tony sprawled on the bench, Josh in his lap, whispering sweet whatevers in his ear. In fact, it was a good thing he had insomnia half the time now. It would give him less chances to see that little display. It was too bad he couldn’t just figure out some way to dig out the memory section of his brain and have done with it. Sure, it might take away the good memories he had, but at least this one would be gone too.

Steve took one more look at Bucky and Nat, saw they had moved their stools a bit closer together, that they were deep in some conversation. He settled down in a vacant spot on the far side of the bar. He didn’t want to disturb them. He’d just have one more drink, and then he’d go home. Home to that quiet, empty house. Lie down on that small, suddenly-too-soft bed, open the window a crack, and listen to the sounds of the street while his insomnia kept him awake enough not to dream about Tony. He felt bad his mother wouldn’t be there, though. They’d spent most of the week together, but he would still miss her tonight. It seemed like a long time since he’d spent a night alone. Living the way he did now, he’d kind of lost the knack for being alone. For being without somebody around him. So, he’d have that last drink. Just one more drink to help ease that loneliness a little. To try and get the knack back, if only for tonight.

He ordered a glass of whiskey, and sipped it slowly, savoring the burn of it in his throat. He’d started drinking a little more lately, and he liked the burn. He liked to feel that slow heat as it slid down his throat and bloomed in his stomach. It felt good. And sitting there, quiet in his little world, he felt something else too.

He felt him before he saw him.

Steve knew what he felt like. Knew what it felt like when it was _his_ body that displaced the air around him, and not just some regular guy. He knew what it felt like when he came near. That snap and hum of electricity that hadn’t dimmed after all. That scent, like shadows on a moonlit street corner. That footstep. That aura. He knew what it felt like. It felt like Tony. 

Just Tony.

“You’re doing it again.”

And Christ, the voice was the same. The same half-amused/half-sulky tone that he’d used the last time Steve had heard him say those words. That day seemed like it was a long time ago. And like it was just yesterday.

Steve turned on his stool, and there he was. Those bad, dark eyes. That mouth curved into half a smile. Steve’s heart lurched in his chest, but his brain was quiet, like it had been expecting this from the moment his feet had dragged the rest of his body in here, and the quiet was nice. He’d lost the knack for being quiet too. It felt good having it back for a minute.

Steve took a sip of his drink, his eyes drinking Tony in at the same time over the rim of his glass. “Doing what?” he asked. He already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Tony say it.

Tony leaned a little closer, and Steve felt a thrill of heat jump from nerve-ending to nerve-ending inside his body. He willed himself not to shiver. It would be bad if he did that. Very bad indeed. He held his breath, waiting. 

“Ignoring me,” Tony said, and Steve couldn’t help it. He shivered. 

Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m not ignoring you, Tony,” he said, and was elated to hear his voice sounded not only steady, but cool and relaxed, confident in a way he rarely was here. It was, he realized, the way he sounded when he was with the other soldiers in his squad. Like he was a man in control. Like a man who could give orders that should be followed without question.

And Tony heard it too. One eyebrow arched up in an unspoken question, even as his eyes widened in brief surprise. “Really?” he asked, and eased closer, leaning against the bar, close enough that Steve could almost smell the heat between them. No, it hadn’t dimmed. It was still there. Still present and accounted for. “What were you doing then?”

“I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you,” Steve said, letting the words roll off his tongue. His heart might be doing wild somersaults, but his brain was still peaceful. Still cucumber-cool. He lifted his glass and drank again. “I just wanted to see how long it would take before you came over here and talked to me.”

“Hmm,” Tony mused. Steve could see a couple of suck-marks on his neck. His stomach roiled, anger and jealousy trying to steal his quiet, but his brain wouldn’t let it. Thank god. He had cursed his brain a million times over the years for not being smart enough, but right now, he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the entire world. “What if I’d left?” Tony said, and Steve’s brain didn’t waste a single second in answering.

“I wouldn’t have let you leave.”

Tony drew in a deep breath. Steve could see the wheels in his head turning. He let it happen. Just sipped his drink and let it happen. Just enjoyed the show while it lasted. He hadn’t liked the first act of tonight’s Tony Stark Show one bit, but act two certainly had its merits. 

“Are you going to kiss me hello?” Tony asked after a moment of considering silence. 

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think Josh would like that, do you?”

Tony snorted and looked across the bar to where Natasha still sat with Bucky. She had his hand in hers, her finger tracing the line on his palm, like she was pretending to read his life-line. “Miss Romanov just gave you the whole scoop, didn’t she?”

“Just the broad strokes.”

“Looks like she’s going to be stroking something else later.” He cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “Jealous?”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Not even when your boyfriend’s about to get jumped by someone else?”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Just a friend with benefits?”

“Just a friend, Tony,” he said. “Just a friend.”

Tony looked at him again, the wheels still turning. He looked a little thrown, the usual Tony Stark poise seemed a little scattered. Steve wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he liked it. He liked that Tony seemed as distressed as he had felt walking in here and seeing his Tony wrapped around somebody else. It felt good. Like justice. But, on the other hand, he hated it a little too. Tony was supposed to be cool and easy. He wasn’t supposed to get flustered over things. He wasn’t like Steve. Tony had been _Keeping It Together_ before Steve even knew what that meant. It felt wrong to have those tables flipped.

As if to emphasize that, Tony said, “You’re different. Do you know that?”

He did. Or, at least his brain did. “Am I?”

“Yeah. You are. You’re-” he shook his head, waving his hand vaguely, “-more...I don’t know. Just different.”

Steve took another sip of his drink. It was almost gone. He’d ordered a double, but even a double only lasted so long. Then what was he supposed to do with his hands? His brain didn’t seem to care about that though. That was the body’s problem, not the brain’s. The brain just went on being cool and confident. Just kept on making his mouth say words. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to apologize or not.”

“You don’t have to _apologize_ ,” Tony said, and ran his fingers through his own hair. “It was just an observation.”

“Okay.”

Tony let out a breath. He still seemed frustrated, and Steve’s brain was still getting off on that. Steve himself--the other parts that seemed independent of his now-in-complete-control brain--wasn’t. Those parts were feeling bad. They didn’t want to see Tony upset. “Well, are you going to at least _hug_ me?” Tony asked. “Or is that too much to ask?”

A miniature war was then waged inside Steve’s body. The brain wanted to tell him to fuck off. The rest of him, however, staged a coup, and won--for the moment, at least. He smiled, looked at Tony from under his lashes, and Tony seemed to ease a bit. His eyes got warmer. His lips curved up into a little smile of his own. Steve was glad. More than glad. Thrilled. 

“I guess that would probably be okay,” Steve said. His hand stole out and landed on Tony’s hip. The feel of that, so familiar, so simple, so loved, sent a powerful wave of nostalgia through him, overtaking everything in its path. It even won over his brain, and for a second, one sweet second, the whole of him, every single part, was on-board with this. Completely and totally on-board.

Then Josh was there. 

“Babe,” he said, and Steve’s hand fell away from Tony’s hip. The nerves in his fingers seemed to moan out a soft lament. Not fair, they cried silently. That’s not fair.

Tony closed his eyes briefly and breathed in, held it, then let it out. It wasn’t more than three seconds, but it seemed longer to Steve. Watching Tony try to _Keep It Together_ was a wonder to behold.

Finally, after a short eternity, Tony looked at Josh. “Hi, honey.”

Josh put his arm around Tony’s waist, his own hand went to Tony’s hip. The exact same place where Steve’s hand had been five seconds ago. Not fair, Steve’s fingers said again. Not fair! “I thought you were coming right back?”

“Sorry, honey. I was talking to Steve.” Tony flicked his hand back and forth between them. “Steve, Josh. Josh, Steve.”

Josh-- _Josh_ , for Christ’s sake--gave Steve a once-over, eyeing him like he was the opposition, an enemy. In a way, Steve supposed he was. He felt his brain taking over again, and he welcomed it. He rejoiced in it.

“Nice to meet you,” Josh said, quiet hostility coloring his voice.

“Yeah. You too.”

Josh nuzzled into Tony’s cheek, his eyes never leaving Steve’s. “Tony’s never mentioned you,” he said. 

Steve knew it was bait, but he didn’t take it. He just shrugged instead. “It’s been a long time,” he said, then smiled a little at Tony. “Maybe he forgot me.”

Tony gave him a slow, secret smile. “Yeah, that’s it, Rogers,” he breathed. “You’re not memorable at all.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“You don’t go to MIT,” Josh said, his voice rising just a bit, trying to break the spell that was being woven between Tony and Steve. “Where _do_ you go? Columbia? Yale?”

Steve laughed. It was more bait. He knew what Josh was doing, and while he didn’t blame him for trying to win this little battle by any means necessary, he wasn’t going to just hand the victory over to him without a fight. Because really, he knew who was going to win. It was by default--Steve was leaving tomorrow and Josh would still be here--but Josh was going to win in the end. Steve just wanted to make him work for it a little. “Nah,” he said. “No college would ever take me. I wouldn’t even have graduated high school if it wasn’t for Tony.”

“Bullshit,” Tony said. “You know that’s not true, Rogers.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. You’re right. They woulda kicked me out just to get rid of me. They don’t want guys like me dragging down their averages for too long.” 

Tony reached out and grabbed the arm of Steve’s sweater. His fingers curled into the soft weave and held on, his eyes were darker now, but Steve couldn’t read what was in them. He was afraid he might have lost the knack for that too. “Stop talking like that or I’m going to kick your ass,” Tony said.

“Yeah?” Steve teased.

“Yeah.”

Josh tightened his grip on Tony. He was holding him in a death-clutch now, but Steve still didn’t mind. His brain was ticking away, showing him how pale Josh was, how hostile his eyes were. Josh was angry. Josh was jealous. Josh was trying to _Keep It Together,_ but he wasn’t nearly as good at it as Tony was. Or Steve, for that matter. The cracks were starting to show. They were going to break open soon, and while Steve might feel a little bad about that--Josh wasn’t _actually_ his enemy, after all--he couldn’t let that bother him. Josh was going to win. Steve was going to go back to the desert. It was just the way things were. 

But Steve wanted this.

He wanted to make him work for it. _Pay_ for it a little.

“Tony was always good to me,” he went on. “Always treated me like I meant something.” He finished his drink and licked the last of it from his lips, watching Tony watch him. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Tony was still holding a fold of his sweater, and now he released it just enough to grasp Steve’s wrist in his hand as well. There was fabric between their skin, but Steve could still feel the heat. Still feel the weight of it, light but firm. Insistent. “You always deserved it, Steve,” he said. “Always.”

“See?” Steve said, and while he was talking to Josh, his eyes were on Tony’s. They were locked, and even though they were in a crowded room, with Tony’s boyfriend right there with his arm around him, it was just the two of them again. Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve. One unit. Just like they’d always been. “He’s good,” Steve went on, talking to Tony by way of Josh. “Special. I hope you know how special he is. How perfect.” Steve turned his head then, turned his blazing eyes on Josh full force, and he took a step back. “You’d better be treating him like he is,” he said. 

“Steve…” Tony trailed off. 

There was a warning tone to his voice, but it was just for show. And even if it wasn’t, what did it really matter? Josh was going to win. He’d already won. He’d won before Steve had even known a battle was going to take place. So what did it matter if Steve fought a little dirtier than he normally would have? What the fuck did it matter? He’d already lost.

Already lost.

“Just make sure you show him every day,” he said, never quavering at all. “Tell him every day. You’d fucking better.”

Josh turned to Tony abruptly. “Babe,” he said. “I want to dance.”

Tony was still looking at Steve. _Steve and Tony. Tony and Steve._ “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, honey, go ahead.”

“I want to dance with _you_.” He pulled on Tony’s hand. “Now.”

Tony’s fingers gripped Steve’s forearm tighter. “What do you say, Rogers?” he asked. “Want to come dance with us?”

“Babe.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“But you’ll make an exception, right?” Tony pressed. “Just this once? For me?”

“ _Tony._ ”

“No,” Steve said, and leaned back against the bar. He flicked his gaze to Josh, then back to Tony. “You go. I’ll just watch you.” Tony’s hand was still on his arm. Steve had not touched him, had not even made an attempt other than the prematurely-terminated hug, but now he let his thumb graze along the smooth, delicate skin on the underside of Tony’s arm. Tony drew in a sharp breath at the touch, but he didn’t move away. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Josh dropped his hand away from Tony’s side and stalked away, out onto the dancefloor. Tony glanced after him, back at Steve, then after Josh again. 

“Better go,” Steve said mildly.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but instead, just turned and went after Josh. 

Steve watched him go, watched him reach Josh’s side, put his arm around him, talk to him. Steve watched. He wished he had another drink, but he didn’t order one. He just watched Tony instead. Just like he said he would. He watched him trying to smooth things over with Josh. He watched him start to sway a little, moving Josh with him until they were dancing the way Josh had wanted. Slow at first, then faster. It was a fast song. Steve had never heard it before. He didn’t keep up with what was popular in music. Not since Tony. Tony had been in charge of that. It had been his job. One of them, anyway. 

Steve sighed as he watched them sway together, Tony’s hands in Josh’s back pockets, holding him close, and his jealousy slipped away. He wasn’t jealous anymore. He wasn’t. Now he was just sad. Sad and lonely. He glanced across the bar. Bucky and Nat were gone. It was okay. It really was. In fact, it was as it should be. Hadn’t he started out alone? All those years ago, before Tony, before Sam, before Bucky? He’d been alone then too. It was just the fate of some people, he mused, as he watched Josh press himself close to Tony’s chest. Some people were loners. Solitary. They might have people around them sometimes, but they were destined to be alone. He was one of those. He was just meant to be alone. And sometimes it hurt, but wasn’t that part of it? The loneliness? It was. He knew from experience it was. You just learned to deal with it. You just got over it. You just _Kept It Together_ for as long as you could, and when you stepped out--by Time’s decision, or your own--you did it with a little sigh. And so what if that sigh was one of relief? It didn’t hurt anybody. There was no one there to hurt.

Steve watched Tony as the song changed, but Josh kept looking at _him_ , throwing darting little glances his way every few seconds. Steve stared back until he finally could take it no more. He stood up and went back to where he’d been sitting with Bucky. He’d left his jacket there, and there it still sat. Nobody would want to steal this old, beat-up thing. He shrugged it on and went outside. He spied Bucky and Nat in the corner on his way out the door. They were dancing too, slow and close, hiding in the shadows, Nat’s arm up around Bucky’s neck, his cheek resting on her hair. They looked good. Happy. Good for them.

The chill night air enveloped him as he stepped out the door. He zipped his jacket up against it, and walked down the street a little ways. He wouldn’t go far. He didn’t want to walk out on Bucky without at least telling him first, but he needed air. And a cigarette. It had been too hot in there, especially after talking to Tony, then watching him dance with _Josh_ , knowing what was going to happen between them as soon as they left here. 

He thought about the times he and Tony had been together. There had been quite a few of them, considering they were keeping it a secret. Quite a few afternoons spent tucked away in his bedroom on the fourth floor. They’d start out kissing, like most couples, then progress from there. Tony had liked it when Steve undressed him. Steve had liked that too. Slowly peeling Tony’s clothes away, kissing whatever skin he’d uncovered, licking his stomach, biting his nipples, sucking on his throat. He had never _actually_ fucked him. They had been working their way up to it, but time--and nerves--were always too big a factor, but Steve had slipped his fingers gently inside him a few times. Turned him over and licked his way in. He still remembered the sounds Tony made when he did that. The low moans, the way he’d muffled his cries against his forearm or Steve’s pillow. He wouldn’t have to stifle himself now with Josh. No Mrs. Perkins in the apartment below, listening to the illicit affair of two teenage boys just discovering the pleasures of being with someone they loved.

Steve took his cigarettes out of his pocket, shook one out of the pack, and put it between his lips. He’d had Tony's cock between his lips so many times. He still thought about it. Still dreamed about it. He’d loved doing it. Loved bringing Tony to the edge with his mouth and his tongue. Loved feeling Tony’s muscles jump beneath his fingers. Loved it when he came, the way he’d go rigid, then relax, everything easing at once as he fell back, spilling into Steve’s mouth, sated, drifting. His eyes finding Steve’s down the length of his body. God, there’d been so much love in them then. So much happiness. So many forevers.

His hands shook a little as he tried to apply the flame from his lighter to the end of his smoke. He chased it and finally made it, the little ember it made, an orange dot in the darkness. He inhaled and sucked that good, harsh smoke down into his lungs. He held it for a moment, then blew it back out, and through the plume of smoke, he saw Tony come out the door of the bar. Saw him come toward him. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just his t-shirt with a thin flannel thrown over it. He must have been cold, but he didn’t look cold. Just cool. Just like he always did.

“I thought you left,” he said as he came up beside Steve.

Steve shook his head, took another drag. “Not yet. In a minute, though,” he said, and tapped ash from his cigarette with practiced ease.

“So, your sexiness quotient wasn’t high enough already? You have to smoke now too?” Tony asked, eyeing his cigarette. “You really have changed.”

Steve shrugged, ignoring the first part of what he’d said. “A lot of the guys over there smoke. I just sort of picked up the habit.”

“Wanted to look cool in front of your new friends?”

“Wanted to _make_ friends. It’s easier to be friendly when you’ve got something in common.”

Tony reached out and took the cigarette out of Steve’s fingers. He looked at Steve as he brought it to his own lips, took a drag, then let it out. “Even if it’s just a cigarette?” he said.

Steve nodded. “Even if it’s just a cigarette.”

“What does your mother think about that, Steven?”

“She doesn’t know,” Steve answered, his mouth tilting into a tiny smile. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her. She’d kick my ass from here to Jersey.”

Tony huffed out a quiet laugh and lifted the cigarette up to Steve’s mouth. They locked eyes as Steve took it from his fingers with his lips. “That would be interesting to see,” Tony said softly.

“Let’s not put her through that,” Steve said, smiling around his cigarette.

“Put _you_ through that, you mean. I know you’re still scared of her.”

“She is pretty tough.”

“Tougher than you, soldier?”

Steve shrugged and puffed his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. “Uh-huh.”

Tony reached out and grasped Steve’s arm. He slid his hand up his bicep, feeling it up beneath his jacket, feeling how hard it was, how big. “Yeah,” he mused, squeezing it experimentally. “You’re probably right. There’s nothing here worth writing home about.”

“You don’t think so?” Steve said in a low voice.

“Nope.”

Steve took one more long drag on his smoke, then stubbed it out on the side of the building. He flicked the butt into the gutter, leaning into Tony a little to do it. Tony didn’t move back. He moved deliberately with him instead, keeping close, as close as he could without actually pressing up against him. The only point of contact was the hand on Steve’s arm. It stayed, tightened a bit, his thumb slipping along the scuffed leather.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” Steve asked. “Shouldn’t you be in there with Josh? Dancing...or whatever it was you were doing?”

Tony sighed out a breath and narrowed his eyes in an accusatory, sulky frown. “I _should_ be, yes,” he said. “But a certain someone spent the whole night shooting daggers at him across the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds pretty scary.”

“Josh thought so,” Tony nodded. “He got so scared he left.”

Now Steve touched him. He put his hand on Tony’s hip, right where it had rested before _Josh_ interrupted them before. His fingers let out a sigh of gratitude. They thought this was perfectly fine. Perfectly legitimate. They didn’t care about Tony’s boyfriend. All they cared about was that they got what they wanted--to touch Tony again. 

Right this moment, Steve was inclined to agree.

“Doesn’t sound like he’s much of a boyfriend,” Steve said softly, letting his fingers tighten and shift on Tony’s hip. “Leaving you here all alone with a scary guy like that around. He shoulda stuck around. Kept an eye on things. Made sure you were taken care of.”

Tony tipped his head in a considering way. “Well,” he conceded reluctantly, “to be fair, I probably should have taken a little better care of _him_.” He slipped his hand further up Steve’s arm, pulling him closer. “I didn’t really try that hard.” He brushed his lips lightly against Steve’s jaw. “Not once that _other guy_ showed up.”

“No,” Steve breathed. “You’re the important one. You’re the one who should be taken care of.” 

“You think so?” Tony asked, putting his hand in Steve’s hair. It _did_ feel different. Glorious. But different.

“Uh-huh,” Steve agreed. His lips were perilously close to Tony’s now. So close, Steve could almost taste the vodka and cranberry juice on them. Sweet and tart. Perfect. “But if all it took was a few daggers to scare him off, then he had no business being with you anyway.”

“Who _should_ be with me, Steve?” he asked against his lips. “You?”

Steve shook his head slowly from side to side. “No. No, I shouldn’t be with you either. Just ask your dad.”

Tony had been moving against him, grasping him with his hands, touching him with his lips, pressing against him, but now he took a step back and hung his head. He let it fall onto Steve’s chest with a harsh sigh. “Oh Steve,” he muttered. “Why’d you say that? Huh?” He stepped back, clenched his hands in fists against his thighs. “Why?” he repeated, and a tinge of anger charred the edges of his voice. “Why’d you have to mention him? We were doing so fucking well.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “ _Too_ well, Tony,” he said. 

“Why can’t you just ever let us be happy for a minute?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Steve said. “It really would only be for a minute.”

“Maybe I’m okay with that.” Tony slipped his arms around Steve’s waist. They went around him so easily. So smoothly. Like it was meant to be. “Maybe I just want one more night with you,” he said, leaning in until he was speaking against Steve’s smooth throat. “Our last one ended so hard. And at the lake…” he shook his head. His hair brushed Steve’s skin, making him shiver. “Why can’t we have a little more time? Just one more night where we don’t think about anything but us?” 

Need and desire burned through him. He wanted it. Everything that Tony was offering, he wanted to take. And take. And take. As many times as Tony would let him. As many times as they could. But his brain held him back for a moment. Like a movie playing behind his eyes, it showed him what tomorrow would look like. The early morning sun lighting on Tony’s bare skin. Steve kissing his shoulder blade before crawling out of bed and dragging his clothes back on. Saying good-bye. Or not. It would be easier if he didn’t. It would be easier if he just left, closing the door behind him, taking a cab, waiting for the plane. He’d planned on doing all those things in the morning anyway, but could he do it if he and Tony spent the night together? He could. Of course he could. But it would be harder. Harder to leave. Harder to get on that plane with the knowledge of how Tony tasted so fresh in his mind. 

“Steve?” Tony said, and pulled back enough to look up into his eyes. “Baby. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want me again?”

There was really no question. None at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is incomplete. I'll be better. I promise. I'm blaming it on the cold and snow.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-one Part Two.
> 
> One more night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was getting this ready to post, I thought I should say some extra thanks since, here in America, it's almost Thanksgiving, and then I thought, "I think I did that last year". And then I was like, WHAT???? I haven't been posting on here for a year! So I looked back at my first story, and sure enough. It has been a year since I started posting. Good god, where did this time go? So much has changed in my life and in the world in general, but what hasn't changed it how grateful I am for all of you reading this right now. Thank you so much for all you have added to my life!! I really do love you all so much!!

TWENTY-ONE 

They took the stairs again. Steve in the lead, Tony right behind him. It was familiar. So familiar. The close space, the scratches on the bannister. Some kid had drawn a smiley-face on the wall in Magic Marker, and that was new, but everything else was the same. Even Mrs. Perkins's door. The little doormat she had in front of it with the words WELCOME FRIENDS written in old-timey script was still there. Tony smiled at that. Still there. They’d still have to be quiet. Put on The Eagles. Muffle their voices as best they could. It was almost like they’d discovered some way of traveling back in time. Just erasing the last three years of their lives so they could wind up back here, climbing these stairs one more time.

Steve stopped at the top and took his keys out of his pocket. Tony pressed up against his back and pressed his mouth against his shoulder, let his hands move over the washboard of his abdominals. Tony could feel them, hard and sharp beneath his fingers even through the fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t wait to see them. To put his tongue on them. His teeth.

“Hurry up, Rogers,” he said, stretching up to say it into his ear. “I need you.”

“You’re distracting me.”

Tony laughed against his neck. “Soldiers aren’t supposed to get distracted.”

“I’m not a soldier here, Tony. At least not right now.”

“What are you then?”

Instead of answering, Steve turned his attention to the door. He seated the key in the lock, and the door popped open at a turn of his wrist. He took Tony’s hand from his stomach and held it in his. He didn’t say anything. He just led him through the door, then once Tony was inside, reached past him to pull it closed.

Tony had planned on jumping on him the second they were inside, but now that they were here in this warm, happy, familiar space, he didn’t do it. He looked around instead, his eyes drinking in the apartment like a cool glass of water after a long, hot day. It had been a long time since he’d been here. He called Sarah every couple of months, just to see how she was doing, to tell her how he was. He liked hearing her voice. He liked that she always seemed genuinely happy to hear from him. He knew he should probably stop bothering her, but he kept calling. Those calls never lasted very long, just a few minutes, but it was nice. An indulgence he couldn’t quite give up just yet, like an alcoholic saying they’d wait until after the holidays to give up drinking...and then after Valentine’s Day...and then after St. Patrick’s Day...

Tony kept his hold on Steve’s hand as he looked around. A few things had changed. There was a new chair in the corner by the window. A newer, larger television. But it felt the same. Like family and home. His eyes moved to the wall, and he drug Steve over to it. Sarah had hung a few new pictures. Steve and Sam in their caps and gowns at graduation. Steve and Sarah at the Grand Canyon, her arm around him, Steve smiling down at her instead of into the camera, oblivious of the natural surroundings. Just a kid looking at his mom. 

Tony leaned closer to look at the last one. His heart sped up as he gazed at it. The backdrop was sand. Just sand, and an eye-wateringly blue sky over the top of it. Steve was standing, slightly at attention, his hands behind his back, a small, complicated smile on his face. He was wearing his fatigue pants, a white t-shirt. His dog-tags were hidden beneath his shirt, but the sun glinted on the chain going around his neck. Tony’s eyes were drawn to his shadow, how dark it looked against the sand. How sharp the edges of it were. For a brief moment he thought of Peter Pan who had once lost his shadow. Steve hadn’t lost his, but he seemed like he had lost something else. Tony’s eyes searched that face in the photograph, then he turned and looked up at the real thing here beside him.

 _Something,_ Tony thought. _He’s lost something. What?_

Tony squeezed his hand. “Hey.”

Steve turned his head. His eyes were the same blue, but they looked darker. “Hey.”

“Do you want to talk for a while?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t really have anything to talk about.”

Tony placed his finger on the frame of the picture on the wall. His eyes were drawn once again to that black cut-out shadow. “We could talk about this.”

Steve folded Tony’s fingers into his own, removing them from the frame, and held them against his chest. Tony could feel his heart beating. Pounding beneath his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that,” Steve said quietly. “Not right now.”

Tony raised his free hand to Steve’s cheek. He rested his palm against it, ran his thumb across his cheekbone. Steve’s eyes fell closed, and beneath the hand still resting on his chest, Tony felt his heart speed up even more. “Okay,” Tony said. “We don’t have to, baby. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about.”

Steve nodded without opening his eyes. “‘Kay. Good.”

“Do you want…” Tony began, then licked his lips. “Can I kiss you? Is that okay?”

Steve put his hand over Tony’s, holding it against his cheek, and stepped into him. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

Tony felt him trembling, but whether it was from desire or nerves, he didn’t know. He used the hand on Steve’s cheek to draw him forward, closer, wanting to go slowly, wanting to feel every little thing. Steve said they had one night. Just one. Just tonight. If that was all they had, then he wanted to give. And give. And give. Everything he had. He tilted his head just right, his muscles knowing what to do, even after all this time, knowing exactly the angle that would benefit them both the most. He stretched up, his own desire pooling in his stomach, a great red haze that obliterated everything else, and he found himself reflecting that for all the times he had touched Josh--touched _anyone_ \--in the most intimate ways, it did not compare even marginally to this. The tension and anticipation he knew in the moment of time before his mouth met Steve’s.

But Steve pulled back at the last second, turned his head just enough to keep Tony’s lips from his.

Tony sighed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Steve?” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “What is it?”

Steve shook his head. His eyes were open now, gazing into Tony’s. Tony remembered how clear they had been before. His emotions had always been so cleanly laid out, so easy for Tony to read, but not now. Now they were cloudy, hidden, and Tony found himself feeling a little afraid. Afraid of Steve, and afraid _for_ him. 

“Baby?” Gently. He said it as gently as he could.

“I’m okay,” Steve said. “I just...I want you to know that it’s been a long time for me. I haven't… Even just this. Just being _this_ close to someone. It’s been a while.”

“Hey,” Tony said, brushing his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone again. “If you don’t want to, Steve, it’s okay. I totally get it. I understand. It’s fine.”

Steve shook his head again, and he laughed a little under his breath, a smile--a real one--teasing around his lips. “I want to, Tony,” he said softly. “I just…it’s lonely. Sometimes. You know? They ‘Don’t Ask’, we ‘Don’t Tell’. And that makes it hard. Harder.” He shrugged, and Tony curled his fingers into his sweater, holding on to him. Steve gripped his hand tighter. “Anyway, I just want you to know it’s been awhile. And I’m glad it’s you here with me now.” He moved his head until it was resting against Tony’s. The smile stayed for just a second longer, and then it disappeared. He closed his eyes again. His forehead creased in a frown. His want, his _need_ , an almost physical thing between them. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Tony kissed him. It was all he could do. There were no words in his head, no words on his tongue. Rarely was he stripped so completely of the ability to speak, but it was gone now, lost in the abyss of whatever this was that he was feeling. He didn’t dare call it love. He wasn't sure anymore if Steve would want him to, but in his deepest heart, he knew that’s what it was. Love. The simplest, most profound emotion available to the human heart. And he was, once again, overwhelmed by its strength. Its beauty. Its terrible, frightening fragility. He kissed him. He kissed him and let his body say what his voice could not. _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

Steve sunk into him, delving into his mouth with no hesitation, just a delicious lust that set Tony’s body on fire. It was the same, but not exactly. His body was broader, harder, his lips soft and warm with alcohol and smoke. He wrapped his arms around Tony and held him tight to his chest, crushing him almost to the point of making it difficult to breathe, but Tony didn’t care. He wanted it. He wanted to be crushed, to be taken so completely by someone he loved so entirely.

“Do you want-” Steve said, breaking away to speak, his eyes wild with greed.

Tony nodded immediately. “Bedroom,” he said, and backed toward the tiny dining room and Steve’s bedroom beyond, pulling Steve with him.

Steve swept him into his arms again, devouring him, lifting him enough to let Tony wrap his legs around his waist, then carrying him the rest of the way into the bedroom. He didn’t bother closing the door. They never had. Too wrapped up in each other to worry about Sarah walking in on them. Tony had never realized that before. That they had worried more about offending Mrs. Perkins’s delicate ears with their moans and cries than about Steve’s mother actually seeing them in the act of it. At another time, he might have found that funny, but right now there was nothing funny here. There was too much hunger in his heart, too much want, too much passion. It drove away the laughter. He might re-discover it again later, but for now, all he wanted was Steve’s mouth on him, his hands on him.

Steve laid him down, and Tony pulled him down on top of him. Now, lying on the bed, their kisses lost some of their urgency, but none of the heat. Steve licked slowly into his mouth, and Tony hummed around his tongue. “What do you want, Tony?” Steve asked, grazing Tony’s throat with his teeth. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Tony slipped his arms up around Steve’s neck and pulled him closer. He kissed him softly, then put his lips next to his ear. “Do you want to be inside me?”

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat. His whole body stilled. Tony held him, running his hands through that short hair, down his back, soothing him as best he could, but at the same time, could not help but feel the hardness of Steve’s cock against his thigh. He wanted it. He wanted to feel it moving inside him. He wondered fleetingly if Steve had ever done it with anyone else. They’d never done it together, but had he ever been with anyone else like that? Or would Tony be his first? His only? The idea was fiercely attractive. Even if he was his “only” for a little while, he wanted it. He wanted it so badly.

“Steve?” he said, and Steve lifted his head to look into his eyes. “Do you want to? Do you want _me_?”

“God,” Steve whispered and bent to capture Tony’s lips again. “Really?” he asked into Tony’s mouth. “You want me to?”

“So much, baby,” Tony said, drawing him down to kiss him again. “I want you so fucking much.”

“I want you too,” Steve said. He moved his hands down Tony’s body, catching the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it up to reveal his lean torso. He bent to kiss his stomach, licked a slow line from his navel to his neck.

“Baby,” Tony breathed, closing his eyes.

Steve brought Tony’s hand to his mouth, the wet heat enveloping his fingers one by one, his tongue lingering over the pads of his fingers. He had always loved Tony’s hands. He had always been preoccupied with them. Tony had never been more grateful for that than right this second.

“Take your clothes off,” Tony said. Steve sat up on his knees, straddling one of Tony’s thighs, and started to strip his shirt off, but Tony put his hand on his arm and he stopped. “Wait, nevermind,” Tony said, bending his knee to rub against him. “Finish taking mine off first. I can’t wait anymore. I need your hands on me.”

Steve’s eyes went darker, and he slipped silently off the bed to kneel on the floor at Tony’s feet. He was wearing boots. Leather. Expensive. Tony propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Steve grasped one of them and pulled it slowly off Tony’s foot. He sat it aside, and moved to the next. He gazed up at Tony, meeting his eye, and lifted Tony’s foot a little, then bent deliberately forward and touched his lips to the leather.

Tony’s cock jumped in his jeans. “Again,” he croaked, almost not even aware he had spoken. “Baby. Do that again. Please.”

Eyes still on Tony’s, still huge and dark, the irises eating up the blue surrounding them, Steve kissed the top of his boot. Once, twice, three times, lingering a little between kisses with his mouth hovering over the leather. Tony could see the pink of his tongue between his lips, and when it touched his boot, leaving a damp trail as Steve licked it, Tony’s mind whited out.

When he came back to himself, he was babbling. He heard it. Heard his voice, the pleas coming from it, and even if he could have stopped, he wouldn’t have wanted to. His mouth was saying on its own everything he would have made it say anyway. “Please,” he said. “Baby. Steve. Please. Please, I need you. I need you, baby. Hurry. Please. I want you in me. I need it. Please. Please.”

Steve did not make him wait. Thank god, Steve didn’t make him wait. 

He pulled the boot from Tony’s foot and tossed it aside, then reached for the fly of his jeans. Working with the methodical hands of one well-versed in his task, Steve pulled the zipper down, then slid the denim down Tony’s thighs. Before he could throw them away, Tony was able to find enough mental ability to say, “Wait. In the pocket. My wallet. There’s-”

But Steve was already digging it out of Tony’s pocket, pawing at the Italian leather like it was cheap vinyl, to get to the condoms inside. 

“I’m clean,” Tony said, watching Steve yank his own jeans off. “I got tested again a couple weeks ago, but-”

“I know, Tony,” Steve said. “It’s okay. I know.” Then Steve’s finger was pressed against his entrance, and Tony fell back on the bed, everything lost to him again. Everything but the feeling of Steve doing things to him. Steve taking control. Steve taking care of him. The feeling of _Steve_. Just Steve. And it was everything. Everything in the world. Everything in the universe. Nothing existed but Steve. Nothing mattered but Steve. He was the sun. The moon. The stars. He was the grass growing on the plains. The sea crashing on a deserted shore. He was everything Tony had ever seen. And everything he had _never_ seen. He was all-encompassing. Everything. Just everything. The memories of Josh, of Pepper, of any of his other lovers were obliterated. How could they compare to this? How could anyone ever compare to the feeling of Steve Rogers pushing--gently at first, oh so very gently--into him, the stretch, the burn, then the ecstasy as he started to move, dragging in and out, leaning down to kiss him, to suck on his neck, overlaying his own marks on top of those left by Josh’s now-inconsequential mouth.

Tony could hear his own voice crying out as Steve fucked into him faster now, angled just right, just perfectly, finding his prostate with every thrust, sending Tony hurtling toward release. And Steve. He could hear him too, his voice a low, constant hum. Lost in pleasure, Tony couldn’t make out the words. Didn’t think it mattered. Maybe later it would matter. Maybe later he would wish he had understood what Steve was saying, but right now, here in this moment, all he cared about was the fact that he was here. That Steve was here. That it was Steve making him feel so good. That Steve was taking care of him. Just like he’d promised all those years ago standing out in the living room just there, with Howard at the door. “I’ll take care of you,” he’d said, and he was. He was taking care of him. And Tony felt like crying because it was more than he could have ever hoped for.

“Tony,” Steve whispered, and the urgency was back, painting his voice with need.

“Me too, baby,” Tony said. “Me too. Just another second, okay? Can you hold on?”

“Yeah. As long as you need.”

“Touch me,” Tony said. “Please.” He closed his eyes as Steve’s hand grasped him and jerked him off in time with his thrusts. “Oh fuck, baby, just like that."

“ _Tony_.”

“Steve,” he choked out, and then he was coming, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, fisting his hands in the sheet. He felt it when Steve came, and reached blindly up to pull him closer until he was lying on top of him, panting. “Baby,” he whispered, and curled his hand possessively around the back of his neck, holding him, running his fingers through his damp hair, lying quietly together while they both came down. After a while, he turned his head until his lips found the side of Steve’s neck. “You’re so amazing,” he whispered. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

Steve shook his head without lifting it from Tony’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “It’s you, Tony. It’s all you. You’re everything.” 

Tony touched his cheek, urged him over so he could kiss his lips. “Do you really have to go?” he whispered, stroking his cheek. 

Steve sighed, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Will you lie here with me for a while first?” He kissed him again. “Please? Just for a little while?”

“I’ll just go get a towel,” Steve said, and returned his kiss, soft and slow. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move.”

“‘Kay.”

Tony closed his eyes, listening as Steve went into the bathroom. He heard the shower start up, and allowed himself to drift while he waited for Steve to come back. It wasn’t difficult. It had never been difficult here. This had always been such a comfortable place. So easy. So warm. He had always felt good here. Like the person he wanted to be, and he wanted to feel that way again. He wanted to feel that way with Steve.

He woke up to Steve wiping his stomach with a warm, damp cloth. He kept his eyes closed, humming a little as Steve bent and kissed him, then when the bed dipped beside him, Tony automatically rolled toward Steve and curled up against his side. Steve put his arm around him, holding him.

“You smell good,” Tony mumbled, breathing deeply.

“You feel good.”

Tony put his hand on Steve’s chest. “When are you coming home?” he asked quietly. “To stay?”

Steve let out a breath, and Tony tensed, waiting. “I don’t know,” Steve said. “I don’t know if I _am_ coming home.”

Tony’s heart stopped. His breath stopped. For a moment, everything felt like it stopped. Including the world. It stopped spinning on its axis. Everything just stopped. “You mean like ever?” Tony asked, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “I thought this was temporary. A three-year thing? Just to pay for college?”

Steve shifted beneath him, giving off waves of discomfort. Tony wanted to say something to ease him, but he didn’t. He needed to know the answer.

“That’s what it started out as,” Steve said finally. “But now. I don’t know. It’s different over there, Tony. _I’m_ different over there. You said it yourself.”

“It wasn’t really a compliment.”

“But it’s still true.”

Tony burrowed his head further into Steve’s chest, almost afraid to continue, but definitely afraid to stop. “So you’re...just never coming home? You’re just going to stay over there forever?”

“I don’t know."

“I--and correct me if I’m wrong, because god knows I’ve been wrong before when it comes to you--but I get the impression you don’t like it much," Tony said. "It _feels_ like you don’t like it much anyway.”

“I _don’t_ like it,” Steve said, and Tony closed his mouth with a snap. There was something in his voice. Something hard but desperate, resigned but resolved, something that made him sound so much older than his twenty-one short years, and all of a sudden, Tony knew what it was. 

_Innocence_ , he thought. _That’s what he’s lost. His innocence._

Tony kissed his chest, ran his hand over his side. “Then why…?” but he couldn’t finish. He didn’t know why. He just couldn’t.

Steve fetched a deep sigh. In it, Tony could hear his frustration, his pain, his resolve. He wasn’t coming home. Tony heard that too. Steve wasn’t coming home. He seemed to hear a careless breaking sound then. His heart, falling to the floor. That's all it was. Just his heart shattering on the ground. 

“I don’t like it,” Steve went on, oblivious, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I _can_ do it, Tony. Everything they want me to do, I can do. They give me an order, and I do it. They don’t wonder if I can get it done, they just know I can. And that makes it so _I_ don’t have to wonder either. I just do it.”

“You could do anything that way though, baby,” Tony pressed, feeling his way along, avoiding the shards of his own heart, trying not to upset Steve, and knowing all the while that he was going to fail. “There are tons of jobs where they just expect you to do shit and not think, if that’s what it is you want.”

“It’s not that, Tony,” Steve said, and just as Tony had feared, there was a coldness to his voice, like a shot of ice water in his veins. “I’m not just some mindless drone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“But it’s not the way I meant it.”

Tony expected him to be angry, maybe even yell at him. They’d certainly done it before--descending into shouting matches--but not this time. This time, Steve curled his arm tighter around Tony’s body, and kissed the top of his head instead. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Tony huddled closer against his side. He pressed his lips to his chest again. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean it that way. I’d never think that, baby.”

“I know you wouldn’t. You never have.” He squeezed Tony tighter. “I don’t mean to get defensive, it’s just hard for me to explain.”

“Try,” Tony coaxed gently. 

Tony was quiet while Steve thought about it. His mouth wanted to open and ramble, but he wouldn’t let it. He just waited, eyes open, staring into the corner at the jumble of their discarded clothing--t-shirts, jeans, socks, Tony’s boots, Steve’s sneakers--waiting while Steve arranged his thoughts into a pattern he could then reveal. Like an art piece.

“People like me over there, Tony,” Steve said at last. “They respect me. Here, I’m just another poor, stupid kid, but over there, I’m Corporal Rogers. That’s not really a big deal, but I’m in line for a promotion. To Sergeant. And that _is_ kind of a big deal. At least to me, because that one’s kind of competitive, but I think I can get it. I know I can. And that...you know. It’s nice. Knowing I can do something. That I’m qualified. That I’m good at something, and other people can see that too. It feels good.”

Tony closed his eyes. He understood. That was the bitch of it. He understood completely how Steve felt. He worked at Stark Industries part of the time now. Training to take over someday. He knew what it felt like when something just clicked, because he felt it every time he went to work now. It just clicked. He didn’t really _like_ it either, but he could do it. He was good at it. 

But there was more to life than work.

“What about this, though?” Tony asked softly, touching Steve’s chest with delicate fingers. “You said it’s lonely. Don’t you want...this? You never liked hiding before. You hated it. You were so sweet to do it for me, but you hated it. You said it was lying. You-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said, and while his voice was not hard, it was final. “I’ve made it so it doesn’t matter. I just don't get close to anybody. If I don't get close, then it will never matter.”

“That’s not the way it sounded earlier."

Steve huffed out short laughter. “That’s because it was _you_ , Tony,” he said. “Of course it matters with you. You’re different. This... _this_ is different.”

Tony moved higher up Steve’s body so they could be eye-to-eye. He put his hand on his cheek and turned his face toward him. “Do you still love me?” he asked. Steve tried to turn away, but Tony wouldn’t let him. He kept his hand on his cheek. “Do you? Please tell me. I need to know.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t, Tony. I just...I can’t.”

Tony kissed him, not caring that he seemed so desperate. He _was_ desperate. “Yes, you can, Steve,” he said. “You can. I need it.” He kissed him again. And again, and again, speaking between kisses. “And you told me you’d love me forever. Remember? Remember that? I need to hear it again, baby. I need to know if you were telling the truth.”

“Of course I remember,” Steve said. “And yeah, I was telling the truth. But did you listen to anything I said just now? I can’t get close to anybody. Not even you. Especially not you. It’s just not something I can do. I don't have it in me right now.”

“But that’s _not_ what you just said,” Tony countered, kissing him again. “What you said is that I was different. You said I mattered more than anybody else.”

“You _do_ ,” Steve said, and ran his hand through Tony’s hair. “You do matter more. You always have.”

Tony pulled him closer, buried his face in Steve’s neck. “Then tell me you love me. Tell me we’re going to be together.”

“No promises,” Steve said. “Do you remember _that_?”

Tony squeezed him tighter, speaking into the soft skin of his throat. “I _want_ promises,” he insisted. “Make me promises.”

“Tony-” Steve began, but Tony cut him off with a long, hard kiss.

“It doesn’t have to be today,” Tony said, pressing his forehead against Steve’s. “Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or even next year.” He put his hand back on Steve’s cheek, holding him in place. Both of their heads were on the pillow, foreheads together, mouths an inch apart. Steve would be leaving soon. Too soon. In just a couple short hours. Then Tony would not see him for...who knew how long? Maybe never. But he wanted this. He wanted everything. Ever since he saw Steve walk through the door of the bar tonight, he had wanted, and wanted, and wanted. And he knew it was selfish. He knew that he was asking Steve for a lot, but if-- _when_ \--they ever got together, it would be so worth it. So, so worth it.

Tony inclined his head until their lips met one more time. “I love you,” he whispered. “I want to be with you. If that means I have to wait five years, or ten years, or whatever, then I’ll wait.”

“We've been through this. I don’t want you to wait, Tony,” Steve said. “That’s too much pressure. On both of us. It’s not-”

“I never said I wouldn’t live my life, baby,” Tony answered. “I never said I didn’t want you to live yours. But I want us to be together someday. I want you to promise me we’re going to be together someday.”

Steve sighed, and when he did, his face softened, that frown that had strained his features all night long, finally eased. When it did, he looked young again at last. Tony couldn’t help but grin at that, and Steve smiled back, rolling his eyes a little. “When are you ever just gonna give up on me, huh?” 

Tony shook him a little, then bit Steve’s lower lip gently between his own teeth. “Never,” he said, and when Steve’s smile grew, Tony thought maybe he hadn’t lost all of his innocence after all. And he was glad. More than glad.

Steve curled up closer to Tony, tucking his head beneath Tony’s chin. He put his arms around him and held on. Tony rubbed his back, ran his hands through his hair, just touching him, just letting his hands get their fill. They were doing their job--cataloguing the differences. Tony knew they were up to the task, and he let them do it. “Are you going to sleep?” Tony asked.

Steve shrugged. “Don’t know. My plane leaves at eight, but I told Bucky I’d be at the airport at five. Just to be sure.”

“I cannot believe you know a grown man named ‘Bucky’,” Tony said, glancing at the clock. Two am. They still had a little time. Just a little, but it was better than nothing.

“Yeah,” Steve said, snuggling into Tony’s side. “He’s tough, though. Toughest guy in the unit.”

“I don’t think so.” He touched the smooth surface of his skin, loving the broad expanse of his back. “ _You’re_ the toughest.”

“Most stubborn, you mean.”

“Yeah. That too.”

Tony kissed his temple, touched him with gentle fingers, and Steve sighed with a contentment Tony didn’t know he still had in him. “You go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you up in a couple hours.”

“That’s okay, Tony,” Steve mumbled, already more than half asleep. “Just set the alarm for me.”

“Okay, baby,” Tony said. “I will.”

“‘Kay.”

But he didn’t. He stayed awake instead. Just holding Steve, just touching him, just watching over him while he slept. Just being with him. Knowing that he wouldn’t see him again for a long time, he didn’t want to waste a single second of _this_ time sleeping. He let Steve sleep. It wasn’t very soundly, though. His muscles jumped beneath his skin. His brow contracted into a frown. He moaned. Muttered words Tony couldn’t quite understand. Tony put his lips against Steve’s ear and whispered, “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” and that seemed to soothe him a little. But not completely. His face never did lose that worried frown. His muscles never did stop twitching. 

Tony wondered what he was dreaming about. But he didn’t think he would ever ask. He was afraid of the answer. 

He said his name at four o’clock, and Steve roused immediately, coming to full wakefulness in a second. His eyes darted from place to place, taking in his surroundings, and only when he realized where he was, did he relax again a little. Neither of them spoke, but Steve kissed him deeply before getting out of bed and going into the bathroom. Tony heard the shower again, then the sounds of him brushing his teeth, a time of silence where he was probably shaving, and when he came back into the bedroom, he was already dressed. 

Steve came back to the bed and sat down. Tony took his hand, held it in his. Brought it to his mouth and kissed it. Their eyes met in the dim. Tony could see regret in Steve’s, but he knew it wasn’t because of what had happened between them. It was because of this. Because he had to leave again. Tony swallowed the tears that rose in his throat. The last thing he wanted to do right now was cry in front of Steve. He didn’t want him taking that with him back to Afghanistan. That wasn’t a burden he should have to carry. He was carrying too much already.

“Stay and sleep for a little while,” Steve said softly, brushing Tony’s hair back behind his ear. “Mom will be home at eight. She’d like to see you.”

Tony nodded. Kissed Steve’s hand again. “Okay.”

Steve leaned down and kissed him again. It was soft, but long, as if he was imprinting it into his memory. Tony hoped that was what he was doing. He knew that’s what _he_ , himself, was doing. “I can’t say it,” Steve whispered, his mouth still on Tony’s, their lips brushing together as he spoke, “but you know I do, right? You know I always will?”

Tony nodded again. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew if he did, the tears would come. 

“Okay. Kiss my mom good-bye for me, will you?”

“I will,” he managed. 

“Okay.”

Steve kissed him again, then started to stand. Tony pulled him back down, wrapped him up in his arms again. He kissed his mouth, then his cheek. “Take care of yourself over there,” he whispered.

“I will.”

Tony held him as tightly as he could, his arms around his neck. “Come home to me,” he said. “I’m serious, Steve. I want to be with you. I love you.”

But Steve didn’t answer. He held him though. For a long time. Held him in his gentle, rock-hard arms, and Tony felt it. Felt his love for him pouring out, wrapping around him, cocooning him. He felt its warmth, its sweetness, its steady, never-ending _thereness_ , and he loved it. He loved it, and he hated it, because as pure as it was, he wanted the words too. He wanted the promises. He wanted everything.

Steve kissed him one more time, just a soft brush of his lips, then he stood up. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the desk-chair where he had thrown it, and slipped it on. He went to the pile of their clothing and toed into his shoes and picked up his bag. He didn’t come back for another kiss. Another hug. He stood straight, unconsciously at attention, his back a hard upright line. 

“See you around, Stark,” he said, and only the tiniest tremor in his voice told Tony he was trying desperately to hold himself together. 

Tony nodded. “Okay.”

And then he was gone.

Tony lay in his bed for a while. He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He wrapped himself up in Steve’s blankets-- _their_ blankets--and just laid there, trying not to think until the sky outside the window began to lighten.

Around seven, he got out of bed and got into the shower. He washed his face, his hair, his body. He didn’t have a toothbrush, but he swished some toothpaste around in his mouth the best he could, then took a hit of Scope from the bottle in the medicine cabinet. When he went back into the bedroom, he made the bed. It didn’t look as nice as when Steve did it, but he thought it was passable anyway, then folded up his t-shirt and put on the rest of his clothes. He poked around in Steve’s drawer and found one of his t-shirts and pulled it on. He didn’t think Steve would mind. He went into the kitchen and started coffee. He knew where everything was. That hadn’t changed at all.

He fixed himself a cup, then took another mug out of the cupboard. He got out a spoon and sat it beside it. There was half and half in the fridge. They’d only had coffee together once, but Tony remembered how Sarah liked it. He had a good memory. 

He sat quietly, just drinking his coffee, and when he heard the keys in the door, he looked expectantly up as Sarah came in. Their eyes met, and she drew in a shocked breath. “Tony,” she said.

Tony stood up and came to her. 

He bent and kissed her cheek.

“That’s from Steve,” he said.

And then he started to cry.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, and dropped her bag to take him into her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up in a week or so.  
> And seriously--thank you! I love you guys!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidents and consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit, this is not my favorite chapter. I tried, but I'm not an action writer. I'm a feelings-person. It seemed to take me forever to get through it, and the result is not the greatest. Sorry 'bout that. :(

TWENTY-FOUR 

They were on assignment when it happened. 

They had gotten intel of hostile activity in a small town a few miles from camp, and Colonel Phillips sent Steve and his unit to check it out. He didn’t actually think there was much to it, but he sent them anyway. Ever since 9/11, every bit of intel was checked out, even if it was just rumor. And there was another reason too. The month or two around the holidays were hard ones. Everyone was missing home. Missing their parents, their spouses, their hometowns. Phillips kept them moving as often as he could. Kept them busy. Busy hands made for peaceful minds. Or productive minds, anyway. 

Steve thought so too. It was easier for him if he just kept moving. He’d spoken to his mom on Christmas. Had even gotten to speak to Sam. He’d made it through the holidays okay, but now that they were over, it was like he was at low-tide. He tried not to show it. He tried to be an example, and on the outside, he thought he was doing fine. He got up, got dressed, got moving. He kept everyone else moving. He was _Keeping It Together_. So what if he couldn’t stop thinking of home lately? So what if all he wanted was to go to the movies with Sam? Or listen to Mr. Barker tell his one stupid joke? So what if he would actually consider murder if it meant he could have one bite of his mother’s Sunday pot roast? Would contemplate slow, painful suicide to wake up in his own bed in New York just one last time?

But he wasn’t unraveling. He wasn’t. He told himself every morning he wasn’t. He was _Keeping It Together_. That’s what he did. That’s what they all did. They _Kept It Together_. They were soldiers, for Christ’s sake. _He_ was a soldier. He wasn’t some fucking kid anymore. He was Sergeant Rogers. Sergeant Rogers knew what was up. Fuck you, _Steve_. Sergeant Rogers was in charge. And when Steve thought of it that way, it worked. It put the burden onto somebody else. Even if that “somebody else” was still _technically_ him, it wasn’t really. Sergeant Rogers was tough. He was strong. He was in control. He _Kept It Together_ with no problems whatsoever. So Steve just let him take over for a while. And it worked. It worked really well right up until the Wednesday in January when everything went to complete and utter shit.

It was cold. Before coming to Afghanistan, Steve had never really thought it got cold here, but it was. It didn’t feel like New York-cold, but it was still cold. It still snowed. His breath still puffed out of his mouth when he breathed. His fingers still felt numb if he didn’t wear gloves. In a way, it was comforting. It wasn’t quite as different as he had feared when he’d first come here. And it was familiar now, in any case. After being here so long, it was almost home. He hated feeling that way. Especially now. Especially since part of him--the _Steve_ part--missed his _real_ home so much he could barely breathe sometimes, but if he was going to let Sergeant Rogers take over, he’d have to take that part of him too, because Sergeant Rogers did feel like this was home. Or close enough, anyway.

But it wasn’t Sergeant Rogers that stopped on the side of the road on the way to some busywork assignment. It was Steve. Sergeant Rogers would not have stopped. Steve had to.

He was quiet, listening to the other guys bullshit back and forth while they walked. He was almost always quiet unless he was giving orders. It was one of the things they all liked about him. That they all admired. Steve wasn’t prone to a bunch of talk--which was why when he _did_ talk, they all listened. When Steve spoke, it was because it was important. And when he made the occasional joke or laughed at something _they_ said, it almost always caught them by surprise. In fact, it had become a little running competition among their unit--who could make Steve laugh the most. Bucky was currently in the lead, but Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan was gunning for the top spot. He thought he could take it by February.

Steve didn’t know about that though. He just liked listening to them talk. Especially like they were doing now. This trash-talk about baseball, and who was the greatest player ever. He liked how passionate they were about it. He liked hearing them play off each other. It reminded him a little of how he and Sam were. And how Tony was. With anybody. With everybody. 

But he didn’t like thinking about Tony. It hurt too much.

They had written a few times after spending the night together a while back, but it hadn’t lasted long. Tony wrote about school, and work, and his friends, and the weather back in New York, and how he and Howard had rewritten some of the contracts with foreign distributors, and how he was working on a source of clean energy within SI, and a hundred other things. He signed the letters, _I love you, baby. Tony._

Steve read them, making sure he was alone when he did. He cried when he read them. He always did. It didn’t matter that they were fun letters with Tony’s personality stamped all over them, he still cried. So, he made sure he was alone when he read them. Made sure he tucked them away when he was done, hiding them along with the letters from his mother and Sam, and the Christmas and birthday cards from Mrs. Perkins, deep inside his footlocker, stuffed under a bunch of shit. It seemed ironic--hiding the most precious things in the world to him under things he couldn’t give a fuck about--but he wanted to keep them. He couldn’t stand the thought of throwing them away. It would be like cutting off a piece of his body and tossing it out with the trash.

He answered the letters with ones of his own. Long, tortured, impassioned letters filled with the words and promises Tony had asked him for while they lay in his bed. Steve was no poet. The words came out in a jumble, with little regard for punctuation or sentence structure, but he knew Tony wouldn’t care. It didn’t matter. The words were what mattered. The feelings behind them were what mattered. For Tony and for himself. It just felt good to write them down. To give voice to the desperation in his heart.

He never sent them.

He couldn’t bring himself to. He couldn’t tell Tony how much he loved him. How his every heartbeat, his every breath was for him. How he had loved him since he was eleven years old, and would love him until he was _one hundred_ -eleven. He took them outside when he was done writing. He lit a cigarette with his lighter, then touched the flame to the edge of the paper, watching it consume his words, his desire, his love with its cleansing fire, erasing them until the next time.

He _did_ send other letters...for a while. But as the weeks went by, it got harder to come up with things to write. Tony’s were so full of hope, of optimism, of happiness, and what did Steve have to write about? Being tired all the time. Moon Dust everywhere. Waking up to the sound of distant gunfire. Or screams. Being cursed at and spit on. Getting friendly with a couple of the locals only to discover them suddenly missing one day, their shops boarded up or simply abandoned. Finding a dying dog on the side of the road and wanting to take him home. Wanting to take care of him, nurse him back to health, keep him, and train him, and love him, and take pictures with him to send home to his mom. He didn’t do those things though. He couldn’t. He squatted down and pet its head, feeling sick as its big, brown, trusting eyes rolled up to look at him even as the blood pooled beneath its open mouth. He said, “It’s okay, big guy. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you, ‘kay? Don’t worry.” And the dog thumped its tail weakly against the ground even as Steve put a bullet in its head.

Those were the kinds of things he had to write about. But, of course, he didn’t write about those either.

There were good things too. A lot of them. He wouldn’t stay if he didn’t think it was worth it. If he didn’t think he was doing good here. He’d volunteered after his first tour, and he kept volunteering, because--he kept telling himself--he was doing so much good. But reading Tony’s sweet, funny, charming letters, all he could think about were the bad things, the things that hurt him, the things that kept him awake at night unless he had a drink to take the edge off. So, he didn’t write back much, and slowly, Tony’s letters started to come fewer and further between. And it hurt, god, it hurt so fucking much, but it was for the best. Tony didn’t need somebody to drag him down. He didn’t need someone who could only see the bad things, and never the good. He needed someone who could lift him up. Someone who could help him. Someone like Josh. Not Steve. Howard had been right all those years ago in Mr. Barker’s office. Tony needed someone different. Someone who fit into his life better. And no. That wasn’t Steve. As much as he hated to admit it, it wasn’t. It never had been. They had love--so, so much love between them--but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. There were too many other things. The songs on the radio lied. Love was never all you needed.

But he wasn’t thinking about Tony right now as they walked. He was half-listening to Bucky and Gabe arguing about baseball, but part of his mind was just trying to exist in a peaceful lull. He let it. Let it just be as still as it could while he walked. The sky was blue overhead. The air cold, but clean in his lungs. He was walking. His body was loose and easy. His rifle and pack constant, almost comforting weights. 

“You’re fucking crazy, Jones,” Bucky was saying. “We all know that Babe Ruth was the greatest player ever.”

“Nope. It was Mays. No question.”

“Babe led the AL in home runs _twelve times_. He has 714 home runs. Can you fucking imagine that? Seven. Hundred. And Fourteen. Say that, Gabe. Say it right now. Let that roll around on your tongue for a minute.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t playing against _everybody_ , was he? Willie was, and he got 660. And did you see that catch he made in the ‘54 Series? Come on. We all know you did.” 

Dum Dum let out a loud, barrel-chested laugh. “He’s got you there, Barnes.”

Bucky shot him a withering glance. “Babe was the greatest left-handed pitcher ever,” he pressed, raising a scholarly finger. “Did Willie Mays ever pitch a game? ‘Cause I don’t think so.”

“Fuck you. Willie was one of the best outfielders to ever play the game, for Christ’s sake! He was an All Star twenty times, and he won the Golden Glove twelve consecutive-”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Bucky said loudly, then shouted over his shoulder, “Are you hearing this fucking bullshit, Rogers? I mean, Jesus Christ. This man’s gone. We need medevac.”

Steve chuckled under his breath, but that was all. He tried to stay neutral on his guys’s little squabbles--but he kind of thought Gabe had a point. Steve missed the triumphant grin Bucky sent Dugan when he laughed, though. Dum Dum flashed Bucky his middle finger, but silently chalked up another point for him in their little game. March. He’d take the lead in March for sure.

Bucky and Gabe kept at it, both extolling the virtues of their choice for greatest player ever, but Steve let their voices fade away to a quiet hum, letting them become background noise. He took his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out, tapped it on the base of his thumb, then stuck it in his mouth. He patted his pocket for his lighter and lit his cigarette. He glanced down, putting his smokes away, and when he looked back up, he stopped moving. 

It was the mountains that stopped him. Just the mountains. Nothing he hadn’t seen before certainly, but the sun was high, glinting off the dusting of snow that covered the ground, turning it into flashing jewels, like diamonds on a bit of silk, or stars in a crushed-velvet sky, and then the mountains, so high and hazy, rising in the distance with the smoke from his own cigarette wrapping them like gauzy spiderwebs. For a moment, it was all he could see. He stopped walking, his smoke forgotten between his lips, just looking up at the mountains. 

And he wanted to paint them. 

How long had it been? Since he’d painted anything? God. Years. _Years._ He doodled occasionally on a bit of napkin or the edge of a letter he would send to his mother, but years since he’d set up his oil paints, stuck his brushes in a cup, and really, actually worked on something real. Years since he’d done it. Years since he’d _thought_ about it. How could something that had once been so important just fall by the wayside like that? How could something that had been almost his whole world get so lost? 

He stood looking up at them, seeing in his head how it would be--getting excited now--thinking how the paint would look on the canvas, how he would use Cerulean blue to get the exact color of the sky overhead. The mountains would be a little more difficult. Ultramarine blue? Maybe. But probably Cobalt. Yeah. Yeah. Cobalt. Mixed with a little white. That would be perfect. Fucking perfect. Where would he get the paints, though? He was sure he could. A lot of people had hobbies. Nobody would begrudge him a limited set of paints so he could--

And that was when the world blew up.

Steve felt a hot push of air against his side, and he automatically dropped to the ground. _Wha-?_ his mind asked incoherently. His face was hot, the whole right side of his body felt _hot_ even as the left side stayed cold from the winter air, and he wanted nothing more than to rest his cheek against the snow for a little while to cool it, but he didn’t. The others had drawn away from him while he had stood looking up at the mountains-- _Cobalt. Yeah. Cobalt--_ and he lifted his head a little, searching for them, squinting through the dust, his ears ringing but hearing something else anyway. Something loud and piercing, like Mrs. Perkins’s teapot, but more _organic_ somehow. More human.

“Report!” he shouted, barely hearing himself through the ringing and that shrieking, organic sound that wouldn’t stop, but seemed to cycle up and down, as if something or someone was pausing just long enough to take a breath. But that couldn’t be. Christ, he hoped that couldn’t be. “Barnes! Manelli! Report!”

He started to crawl forward, his hands and knees gritting in the snow and sand and rubble. “Barnes! Fucking report, right now!”

“Sergeant!”

Not Bucky. Dugan. 

“Dugan-” he began, then coughed, almost gagging as the breeze blew toward him, bringing with it the hot scent of explosives and charred...something. Something like meat on a barbecue. He gagged again, his stomach roiling, and his hand slipped in something. Something that looked like Cadmium Red straight out of the tube. Or maybe good old Stoplight Red mixed with a little blue. Just enough blue to make it look realistic on the canvas. To make it look exactly like what this was for real. “Dugan, report! Jones! Bucky!”

And still that shrieking sound. That shrieking sound that was becoming clearer as the ringing in his ears abated. That shrieking that was definitely not a teapot. That was definitely--frighteningly, terrifyingly--human.

Steve caught himself on his elbow, and kept moving into the dust and barbecue scent of what was at least pain and danger and probably death. 

“Sergeant,” Dugan said, suddenly at his side. 

Steve grabbed his arm. “We need medevac.”

“I’ll call.”

Steve nodded curtly. “Then I want you with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve--Sergeant Rogers. He was Sergeant Rogers now--saw a few of his men standing up, saw Gabe being supported by Manelli and Rebel Ralston. They looked shaken and dirty, and Gabe was holding his leg at a strange angle, but they looked okay. He didn’t see Bucky, though. Or Jonathan Juniper. Where the fuck were they? Bucky, his best friend here, and Juniper who was just a kid...not that any of them were really more than kids.

Steve got to his feet, and now he could see what had happened. Sergeant Rogers could see what had happened. He could see where the IED had been, could see with his battlefield eye that someone--Jonathon, my god was that _Jonathon?_ \--had stepped on a pressure plate buried in a bit of sand and snow and triggered it. He could see where the lower half of his body had been practically vaporized. He could also see that he was not moving. That he would never move again. At least not on his own.

 _My fault,_ his mind whispered, like a razor through silk. _This is my fault._

Steve swiped a quick hand over his face, tearing his eyes from Jonathon’s ruined body, and when he did he finally saw him, and it was Steve, not Sergeant Rogers, that ran--fucking _ran_ \--toward him. Toward his friend. Toward James “Bucky” Barnes, where he lay screaming in the middle of the road.

Steve fell beside him, his knees squelching in the blood-soaked earth, eyes frantic but assessing, seeing the way things were, seeing everything. The blood, the seared flesh around the place where his arm had once been, the anguish on his face, the burns that covered the left side of his body. The blast had scorched his skin, singed his hair. His voice was loud, monotonous, his eyes squeezed shut as the pain ripped through his body. Steve saw it all. Everything. And he was sick. Sick, because his artist’s eye picked it all up, just as it had the mountains a moment ago-- _my fault, all my fault--_ seeing everything, translating it into color and shape and shade, and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for seeing everything as he would see it in a painting made by a meticulous, perfecting hand. 

“Buck,” he said, putting his hand on the side of Bucky’s face. He put it on the right side, avoiding the blistered skin on the left. “Bucky, listen to me. Listen. You’re gonna be okay. Okay? I’m gonna take care of you. Listen to me, soldier, you’re gonna be okay.” He spoke loudly but gently, his other hand digging through his pack by touch alone, searching for a tourniquet. 

“Sergeant,” Dugan said, kneeling next to him. “Juniper…”

“I know,” Steve said, leaning forward to affix the tourniquet to the stump of Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky shrieked again as he pulled it tight, cutting off the flow of blood, then slumped on the ground, silent at last. Steve checked his pulse. It was thready but there. “ETA on the medevac?”

“Five minutes. Collection point’s on top of the hill.”

“‘Kay,” Steve said and leaned close to Bucky, hooking his arm around him. “Help me, Tim,” he said to Dugan, and between the two of them, they wrangled Bucky up onto Steve’s shoulders. 

“Let me help,” Dugan said, but Steve shook his head and hitched Bucky up a little higher on his shoulder. He let out a guttural moan, and then was quiet again.

“I got him. Get Jonathon.”

“Sergeant-”

“Tim. We’re not leaving him here.”

Dugan nodded, and Steve started back the way they had come, carrying Bucky on his back. The other men in his unit were with him. He could hear them coming along behind him, could hear their hushed voices, their shuffling steps. Steve blocked them out. He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to see. He kept his eyes forward. 

_My fault_ , he thought as he moved. _All this. My fault. My fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I lost focus. I should have been in the lead. I should have been taking care of them. This is my fault. All my fault._

\---

They gave him a five-day leave.

He didn’t want to take it, but they gave it to him anyway. He thought about going home, but in the end, he didn’t. He didn’t think he could face his mother right now. Not with the guilt hanging over his head. Not with the knowledge of how badly he had fucked up. How he had gotten Bucky maimed. Gotten Jonathon killed.

He flew to Chicago instead, picking it because it was _near_ to home, but not home, and the departure time at the airport. The ticket price was astronomical, but he didn’t care. He had plenty of money now. At least for his needs. He had set up an allotment for his mother when he first joined the army, but didn’t actually use much of his own paycheck beyond the basics.

He’d never been here before, but he was pretty good at following directions. Good enough to find a hotel anyway, and, more importantly, the bar that was nearest to it. He dumped his stuff unceremoniously in his room, then found his way to the bar. He only took one wrong turn, which he didn’t think was too bad, and then he was sitting at the bar and ordering a double shot of whiskey that wasn’t really that good, but seemed to be getting the job done well enough. He thought after two or three more, he might be able to sleep without hearing Bucky screaming on the ground. At least, he hoped so. It hadn’t happened yet, but he hadn’t been able to get properly drunk until now. He’d treated himself to a bottle of Glenlivet for Christmas, but it was gone before the accident. Part of him wished he hadn’t shared it with the Howlies, but the bigger part--the _best_ part of him--was glad he had. 

_Doesn’t make up for what you did._

Or didn’t do. 

Steve motioned for another drink.

Talking to Nat had been one of the worst parts. Colonel Phillips had spoken to Jonathon’s mother, but Steve had requested to speak to Natasha. “She’s a friend,” he said, standing at attention in Phillips’s office area. “I’d like to do it, sir. If that’s okay.”

Phillips nodded without looking up. “Do it, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He called her number from memory. He’d seen Bucky call her a lot, and it stuck in Steve’s head, filed away with Mr. Barker’s and the pizza place he and his mother had ordered from so many times over the years.

He lit a cigarette while he waited for the connection, thinking how crazy it was that he could pick up a phone in one part of the world, and she could answer it in another with hardly any lag at all. Back in the day, they’d probably had to do this kind of thing by letter, or telegram, or whatever. Not now. Now the news of dismemberment and death could be had at the touch of a few buttons. He didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hello?” And her voice was already cautious. 

Steve exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Nat. Hey. It’s Steve.”

“No,” she said, the tears already starting. He could hear them, and he put his head in his hand. 

“He’s alive.”

“Oh my god.”

“Nat. He’s alive, okay? That’s the important thing.”

“Oh my god, Steve.”

“It’ll be okay. He’s coming home. Okay? He’s coming home.”

And then she was sobbing into the phone. Steve held it to his ear, head in his hand, listening to her grief and fear, thinking if he had been doing his job and paying attention--leading his men instead of day-dreaming away in the distance like some fucking punk kid--he wouldn’t be making this call. No one would have to make this call. And if they had, it would have been _his_ people they were talking to. His mother they were talking to, and not his...anything else. Because he didn’t have an _anything else_. Not any more. And for one brief, intense moment, he let himself think about Tony. Let himself remember the way he looked in the sunlight, holding his hand at the lake house, lying in Steve’s bed, curled up in the sheets, the way he raised one eyebrow to punctuate a sentence, the way his hands moved so confidently when he drove, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he felt beneath him, the way he said _I love you, baby._ He thought of it all. Let it consume him. Let it tear him apart. 

_Who would call him if I died?_ Steve thought while Nat cried. _Would anyone call him? And if someone did call him, would he even care?_

Steve didn’t know. Even now, sitting here in this bar, thinking about how senseless and stupid what happened was, he didn’t know. Thinking about how, if he had been taking care of his men the way he should have been doing, this wouldn’t have happened. Thinking of Tony. And Bucky. And Jonathon. And Natasha. And his mother. Thinking it would have been better if he had been the one to step on that pressure plate. Thinking it would have been a relief.

“Rough day?”

Steve started a little, jerked out of his reverie, and looked to his left. A guy was sitting beside him. A guy with dark hair and hazel eyes. A little smile on his lips. Steve had never seen him before. He was just some guy.

Steve threw the rest of his drink back. “Rough year,” he said, and tapped his glass. The bartender filled it without a word.

The guy laughed like Steve had made a joke, and Steve’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re funny,” the guy said. 

Steve shook his head. “No. Not really.”

“Well, you’re making _me_ laugh.”

Steve frowned at him for a minute, then shook his head, a tiny smile appearing and disappearing in a flash. “Okay,” he said.

He had a dimple. Just one, on his right cheek. Steve wasn’t sure what to think about it, but the guy was pretty determined to show it off--he kept smiling at Steve like he really did think he was funny. Or something. He smelled kind of good too. Not like Tony. Nobody smelled as good as Tony. But good. Like citrus and sandalwood, and when he leaned closer, Steve breathed it in, unable to help himself. 

“I was going to offer to buy you a drink,” the guy said in a slightly lower voice. “But you’ve had three since coming in.”

Steve swallowed the last of his third. “You a cop?”

“No,” he said lightly. “Just an interested party.”

Steve frowned again. “Interested in what?”

He shrugged, that dimple teasing in and out of existence. “You,” he said, and Steve blinked at the plain way he spoke. The guy smiled again. “I’m Jack.”

“Steve.”

The guy--Jack--touched Steve’s arm. “I like that name.”

Steve looked down at Jack’s hand on his arm, and when he looked back up, Jack didn’t look away. He held Steve’s gaze frankly. He really did smell good. And he wasn’t bad looking. Seemed nice. And he was interested. He said so. Nobody said they were interested in the army. They couldn’t. And it had been a _long_ time. Not since…

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Steve said before he could change his mind.

Jack blinked, moved his head a bit. “You get right to the point, don’t you?”

Steve shrugged, taking his wallet out of his pocket. He threw some cash on the bar. “Why not? Unless you don’t want to?”

“No,” Jack said quickly. “I want to...eventually. I just-”

“Look,” Steve said, letting out a breath. He turned to Jack, put his hand on his hip. It felt weird doing that. Almost wrong, but he kept it there. He wanted this. He _needed_ it. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay. We don’t know each other at all. I get it. I could just be some freak. We’ve all gotta be careful. But,” Steve started to move his thumb against Jack’s waist. It still felt weird. Almost like he was _doing_ something wrong. Like he was cheating. But he kept doing it. Tony wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here. Not for years. Steve wasn’t cheating on him. In no way could what he was doing be considered cheating--just because he still felt that way didn’t mean anything. It didn’t make it true. “But we’re both here. We’re both...interested. Can’t we skip all the bullshit between now and ‘eventually’ and just go back to your place?”

Jack studied him for a minute, and Steve let him. It was okay. He really did understand. Might have felt a little worried himself, if he was Jack. Steve wasn’t worried, though. Jack was a small guy. Steve wasn’t. And he was trained in combat. He thought he could handle anything Jack could throw at him, if he was that kind of guy. And if there was a small part of him that almost wished Jack was a bad guy, a guy that trolled the bars looking for an unsuspecting mark to take back to his lair to torment and murder...well, then he still wasn’t worried. 

Jack sighed, but he must have been satisfied with whatever he saw in Steve’s eyes, because he smiled at him again, letting that dimple out. “Okay,” he said finally, and ran his hand up Steve’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Steve nodded and stood up. Jack took his arm, like he was his boyfriend. Steve let him. Even if it did still feel strange--still feel _wrong_ \--and they walked out of the bar together.

Jack didn’t live far, he said. Just a couple of blocks. Steve didn’t even consider taking him back to his hotel room. He didn’t want anyone else there. He didn’t want anyone in his space. Especially someone he didn’t know. There wasn’t much privacy back in the desert. He’d gotten fiercely protective of what little he had. He wasn’t sure if the other guys felt that way, or if he was the anomaly, and he didn’t really care. All he knew was that he felt that way. Maybe if it had been Sam here with him, or his mother, or- But it wasn’t. It was Jack. Just some anonymous guy he’d picked up in some anonymous bar in some anonymous city. He’d never see him again after tonight. This wasn’t some kind of romantic encounter that would lead to breakfast, then lunch, then movie dates, and hand-holding, and sweet declarations of love spoken while lying in each other’s arms in a warm, early-morning bed. 

This wasn’t kisses and teasing and cuddling. It was just a quick fuck. That’s all. It was just another form of intoxication. Just another way to forget. Just something to take his mind off of Bucky and Jonathon. And so what if it felt wrong? The drinking felt wrong too, but he still did _that._ This was no different.

They walked to Jack’s apartment and rode the elevator up. Steve kept his hands in his pockets as they rode, but when the elevator stopped, Jack grasped his arm and pulled him down to his door. Jack took his keys out of his pocket and opened the door, and as soon as they were inside, Jack pressed against him and tipped his head up. Steve licked his lips, put both hands on Jack’s waist. He wanted to do this. He did. He knew he did. The three drinks he had thought so too. They thought this was a great idea. Sure they did. He was shaking, and was starting to feel a little sick to his stomach, but yeah. He wanted to do this. He wanted to feel something other than guilt and pain. Anything else. This would work. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, brushing Steve’s cheek with his fingertips.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

And to prove just how okay he was, Steve wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist and bent his head into the crook of his neck, kissing the skin there, sucking on it a little in the way that Tony had always liked, running his tongue over it. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the moment, in the feel of a warm, responsive body in his arms. It was different. Different from Tony. For some reason, he thought it would be the same. That it wouldn’t matter _who_ , as long as the _what_ was the same, but it wasn’t. 

Didn’t matter. This was fine. It was _fine_. He wasn’t thinking about Bucky or Jonathon anymore, so it was working anyway, and that was all that really mattered.

Jack put his hand in Steve’s hair, holding him in place. “That feels so good, baby,” he said softly.

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat. He pulled away a little, squeezing his eyes even more tightly closed. “Um,” he began, speaking in a halting, hesitant way, “don’t call me that, okay? I don’t like it.”

Jack ran his hand through Steve’s hair, and that didn’t feel the same either. It was nice. _Jack_ was nice. But it wasn’t the same. Steve kept his eyes closed, trying-- _trying_ \--to get over whatever this was that was stopping him from enjoying this. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack asked.

He was going to throw up. There was no way he was not going to throw up. 

“I’m fine,” Steve insisted. He wasn’t. But Jack didn’t need to know that. He could fake it. He could _Keep It Together_. He could. He knew he could. 

“You’re shaking.”

“I-I’m just excited.” _Screaming in the cold._

“You look a little green.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But then Jack was gone. Steve’s eyes were still tightly closed, but he felt him move away. Felt the distance between them grow, and with every step Jack took away from him, the sound of Bucky’s screams got louder and louder. 

Steve lifted a trembling hand to his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Jack-” _shrieking like a teapot. “Sergeant!” Rubble. Dust. Blood like paint on a canvas--_ ”I’m sorry. I-I have to go.”

“Do you want me to call-” _I_ want _promises. Make me promises_ “-you a cab?”

Steve took a stumbling step backward. “No,” he muttered. “No. Sorry. No. I’m okay.” He fumbled with the doorknob and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Ton-Jack. _Jack._ Really.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said, but Steve didn’t hear him. He retreated down the hall, back toward the elevator, jabbing his finger at the button, almost falling inside. He backed into the corner and pressed his hands against his face, trying desperately to get himself back under control. _Keep it together,_ he whispered to himself. _Just a little longer. Just keep it together, soldier. Keep it together._

When the elevator door opened, he shoved his shaking hands deep into his pockets and left. The doorman opened the outer door and wished him a good night. Steve nodded without thinking, and stepped out into the night. The wind coming in off the lake was cold and sharp, feeling like a blade against his skin. Steve turned his face into it. It helped. It brought him back to where he was, dimmed the screaming in his head, and that was good. He didn’t want to hear that anymore. He knew he deserved to hear it. That he should hear it in his head for the rest of his entire life, but he didn’t want to.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted Tony.

And that wasn’t fair. To Tony or to him. But that was his fault too, wasn’t it? He should have told him. He should have given him the promises he’d asked for. Steve had felt it back then. Had always felt it. Was afraid he would always feel it, no matter what. But it was too late. Wasn’t it? There was no way Tony still loved him. Three years--six, really, discounting their one-night stand--was a very long time. Especially when you’re young. Especially when you don’t really understand how fast time goes by, or how precious it is. How easy it is to lose everything you have in the blink of an eye.

There was a phone booth on the corner. 

Steve stepped in and closed it behind him, shutting himself up inside. It was marginally warmer, but it didn’t even register to Steve. He dug in his pocket for change, and plugged it into the slot, coin after coin, then dialed Tony’s number. He knew them, all of them, Tony had written them on some of his letters a long time ago, hoping Steve would call, but of course, he didn’t. He couldn’t. That’s what he’d thought back then, anyway. But now, now here he was, finally using them. 

He held the receiver to his ear. It was eleven o’clock here, which meant nine o’clock in California. That seemed like a perfect time to pour his heart out. 

It rang once--just once--and then a voice said, “Hello?” and his heart stopped. Because it wasn’t Tony. Not even close. It was a woman. “Hello?” she repeated.

Steve started to sweat. His already shaky hands shook even more. “Um,” he whispered, “Tony Stark?”

“Sure,” she said. “Just a minute.” Steve leaned his head against the glass, his breath fogging it up, his eyes shut. “Tony?” the woman’s voice called. “Phone!”

There was a rattling sound, then Tony’s voice. “-it in the bedroom, honey.” Steve’s lip began to tremble. “Yeah, Tony Stark.”

Steve’s hand tightened on the phone, squeezing it tightly in his fist. Tears started to leak from the corners of his closed eyes. 

“Hello?” Tony said, and his voice was the same, amused, smooth like honey, silk in Steve’s ear. “Hello, hello, hello?” And then his laugh. Rich and sweet. “Okay. Doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Steve let out a strangled breath as Tony laughed again and hung up, leaving Steve holding a dead receiver. “Tony,” he choked out between sobs. “Tony, don’t go. Tony.” He ran his hand back through his hair, clutching at it, crushing the phone against his ear. “I need you. I miss you. Christ, Tony, please,” he whispered into the nothing in his ear. “I love you. I love you so much. I wanna be with you. Forever, Tony. Please. Please.”

He leaned heavily against the glass, holding the phone to his chest now, tears falling, body wracked with sobs, and the screaming was back, pounding in his brain in time with his pulse. It was cold. Freezing. The phone was still in his hand. If it had been his pistol, he would have used it. He would not have hesitated. Not for one single second.

Blindly, Steve dropped more change into the slot and dialed. The phone rang almost eight hundred miles away, and was picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” Groggy. Tired. Ninety-percent asleep.

“Sam.”

“Steve?” Awake now. Just like that.

“Sam.” And he was still crying, tears still falling, but just hearing Sam’s voice made it a little better.

“Steve, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I fucked up,” Steve said. “I fucked up so bad.”

A rustle, cloth--sheets maybe--and Sam’s voice, perfectly calm, perfectly in control. “Where are you?”

“Chicago.”

“Stay there. Okay? Stay there. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before--my research skills are not good. Thanks to Google for what I got right, blame me for what I got wrong. Next chapter up in a week...or so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Here we go. Finally. I haven't written anything in about 3 weeks. At one point, I opened my writing program and it told me my last edit had been 9 days ago. And I'm pretty sure that "edit" had been when I opened it, took away one comma, then closed it again. I can't even blame it all on work, even though November and December are our busiest months. I've just fallen down a rabbit-hole of trash tv and laziness. Sorry. For anyone who was wondering if I ever planned on posting again, sorry. Anyway, here's another chapter. It's not the greatest, but we're getting to the end now.

TWENTY-FIVE 

They did it in September, nine months after Bucky lost his arm. 

It was a small ceremony. Just close friends and family. Steve stood up beside Bucky and Clint stood with Nat. Neither Bucky nor Steve wore their dress uniforms, just nice suits and blue ties. Nat insisted on the blue. “It’s my favorite color,” she purred, curling up in Bucky’s lap and running a finger along the line of his jaw as she gazed into the clear blue of his eyes.

Bucky put his arm around her and kissed her. Neither of them cared that Steve and Clint were sitting right there watching. Neither of the two men cared either. They just exchanged a look that was equal parts amusement, embarrassment, and just plain happiness. Happy that Bucky and Nat had this. Happy that they were happy.

Steve was extra-happy since he knew that Bucky had had his doubts that Natasha would still want him after he lost his arm. 

“She could have anybody,” Bucky told Steve as they sat playing checkers in Bucky’s hospital bed. “Why would she want...this?” He flicked a hand at his missing arm. He was bruised, his skin healing from the burns, but he still managed a lopsided smile. 

“Why wouldn’t she?” Steve asked, moving a checker.

Bucky shook his head, still smiling a little, but Steve could see the lines around his eyes intensifying. “Would _you_?”

“Yeah,” Steve said immediately. “If I was her, you bet I would.”

Bucky looked at him hard for a minute, then threw a checker at him and smiled again. “You ain’t her, Rogers.”

Steve laughed. “No. I’m not her. And you’re right--she _could_ have anybody, but she’ll want _you_. She _does_ want you. She’ll always want you.”

Bucky shook his head again. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Guess we will.”

Steve had been right. He knew he would be. 

And now they were getting married. And Steve was standing beside Bucky, listening to a priest laying out a framework for the rest of their lives. Helping Bucky and Nat make promises to each other. Helping them tell each other that they wanted to be together. Together forever. 

And Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes found Tony where he sat out in the congregation with a pretty redhead by his side, holding his hand. He couldn’t help the way his heart burned inside his chest, leaving it nothing but a tiny cinder when Tony looked back. He couldn’t help the way that tiny cinder still sped up, still doing what it was created for, still pounding within the cage of his ribs, beating out Tony’s name like it had done for years and years. And he didn’t even try to stop it. There was no point. 

He did try to look away when the priest said “Til death do you part”, but he couldn’t do that either. 

Tony did, though. So, it was okay.

He went outside afterward. He thought it was probably bad form to smoke on the church steps, so he took it down the block a little and stood with the other knot of people who had the habit, all of them in their Sunday best, three little old ladies and two other guys, none of them speaking, all of them saving their breath to suck on their cigarettes. Steve didn’t mind the silence. In fact, he liked it. He also liked the camaraderie. Even if they didn’t know each other. Even if they were quietly killing themselves and they all knew it, at least he wasn’t doing it alone.

When he was done--when they were all done--they went back down to the church and watched Bucky and Nat climb into their waiting car. The reception hall wasn’t far. Steve walked. He didn’t have a car. He had finally gotten a license, but he still didn’t see the point in driving. Not here, anyway. 

He had another smoke on the way.

Nat made him dance at the reception. She pulled him onto the dancefloor first, wrapping him up in her arms and holding him extra tight. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear as they swayed together.

“For what?”

She looked over her shoulder at Bucky laughing in the corner with Clint. “For him,” she said. 

He smiled a tiny smile. “Shouldn’t you thank his parents for that?”

“I did,” she said, and pulled back to look up into his eyes. “And now I’m thanking you. You introduced us. Remember? That night?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes far away. “I remember that night.”

“It was the best birthday I ever had.”

Steve touched her hair. “I’m glad.”

She looked like she was about to say something else, but she didn’t. She just held him tighter and put her head against his chest, moving with him to the music. Steve was glad about that too. He didn’t really want to think about whatever else she might have said.

He found his table after dancing and sat down. Sam was supposed to be here with him tonight, but he’d had an emergency at work. One of his patients had fallen and re-broken her hip, and had begged Sam to stay with her. She was older, and had no family. He couldn’t refuse. He’d called Steve and apologized over and over. Steve told him it was fine. He would be okay. He would be fine. Of course, he would be fine.

He didn’t really know anyone else at his table. A couple of people, but no one well enough to have an actual conversation. He was fine with that too. He didn’t even really want to be here. He wasn’t planning on staying long. Just long enough to watch a couple dances. Have a piece of cake, an obligatory glass of champagne, then he was gone. It wasn’t that crowded, really, but Bucky had a big extended family, and with kids running around and a multitude of aunts and uncles and grandparents all talking about how good Bucky looked, and how lucky Natasha was, it _seemed_ crowded, and Steve didn’t really like crowds that much anymore. He was getting better--he felt like he was getting a little better, anyway--but he still didn’t like crowds. 

They did have one advantage, he thought--all those random people milling around in his line of sight kept him from searching out Tony and his date. That was one good thing. 

Steve knew he was here. He’d seen him a couple times. Just a quick glance as he moved from one side of the room to another. Once, he’d been holding her hand, the other time, he’d been carrying two glasses of champagne. He didn’t look Steve’s way either time, and Steve was quick to drop his own eyes, not wanting to accidentally catch Tony’s. Not wanting to make it seem like he’d been watching him. He hadn’t. Really, this time. At the ceremony, he had not been able to look away, but here, now, he just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t _want_ to look at Tony. He didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to engage with him at all. He just wanted to eat his cake, drink his own drink, and get out of here. He wanted to go somewhere quiet and be alone. He wanted to have a real drink and not think about anything. And that time was fast approaching. The limit on politeness was coming right up. Fifteen minutes. Twenty at the most. He could do it. He could stick it out. A person could do _anything_ for twenty minutes. He could do this too.

He fidgeted with his napkin, drank his punch. It was just punch, nothing harder, but he could wait. He didn’t think about his drinking much. He didn’t _want_ to think about it. Deep down, he knew if--when--he finally did think about it, it would become apparent just how much he should _not_ be doing it, so he just kept his mind busy with other things. His brain didn’t need to be bothered with that part right now. It had other things to focus on. His body said he needed it. His shaking hands said he needed it. His slow, stupid tongue said he needed it. His heart thumping gamely along in spite of everything said he needed it, so he shut his brain out of the equation and just let his body decide this one for now. It needed it, so he did it. He’d let his brain in on the situation some day. Just not today.

Especially not today. 

Especially since he could feel him now. Feel him getting closer. 

Steve closed his eyes. Gripped his glass. Wished brilliantly that it _was_ something harder.

“Hey.”

He sighed. Drank. _Stupid fucking punch._ “Hey.”

Steve got to his feet and they stood looking at each other. Tony eyed him apprehensively, one eyebrow cocked. He looked good--so fucking good. Steve had never seen him in a suit before today, but it looked natural and effortless on Tony’s body, hanging with perfect, impeccable ease. He was wearing glasses too, and Steve’s heart jolted in his chest. He’d never seen that either. _Sunglasses,_ but not real, regular glasses like these. His brain tried to tell him how much he liked it, but Steve shut it up quickly, shoving it away into a metaphorical room in the back of his head filled with files it could look at and go through instead of thinking of Tony and his glasses-- _Ooh, you wanted to know the population of Peru in 1986? Let me just look up our fourth-grade social studies project. Won’t be but a minute--_ that would keep it busy.

Tony smiled at him, but it seemed cautious, tiny lines around his eyes crinkling. “Do I shake your hand, or...?” he asked. 

Steve shrugged. He was feeling pretty cautious himself. “I, um, I don’t really know.”

“Well, let’s just-” he began, and then moved to hug him. At the same time, Steve put his hand out to shake. They both stopped, laughed a little, then Steve went for a hug the exact same time Tony tried to shake hands. 

They stopped again, and Steve felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. God, why did this always happen to him around Tony? Six years in the desert and he hadn’t blushed once, but thirty seconds in Tony’s presence rendered him a red-faced mess.

To be fair, Tony was obviously flustered too. He reached out and grasped Steve’s shoulders. “Don’t move,” he said, and Steve nodded gratefully, letting him take over. Tony stepped closer, and slipped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, drawing him in. Steve let himself be drawn, let himself sink--just a little--into his embrace, wrapping himself up in Tony’s arms, in the scent of him, in the warmth of him, the familiarity of him. 

Steve lifted his hands and touched Tony’s waist. It was all he dared do. All the contact he dared have. He was afraid of what would happen if he let himself go further.

Tony seemed okay with it, though. He stepped back finally and then reached out and straightened Steve’s tie. “Wow,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you all spiffed up like this.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “Yeah,” he said, then shrugged. “Graduation, I guess.”

“Nah. You were all hidden under that polyester tent they made us wear.”

“Guess that’s true,” Steve agreed, then ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Feels a little weird.”

“Probably not much call for a suit and tie in the army, huh?”

Steve smiled a little. “Well. Not at my pay-grade anyway.”

Tony laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh Steve was used to hearing. If you could call something that hadn’t happened in over three years--and even then just barely--something you could be _used_ to. He _used to_ be used to it, though. He thought that might be close enough. He tried to smile, to make Tony happy, but it felt false on his face, like a mask.

Tony must have thought so too, because his own smile faltered a bit. That uncertain look came back. "Um," Tony began, then cleared his throat, scratched his forehead. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Steve said, and he knew Tony wasn't just asking about this particular moment in time. He knew about what had happened. Of course he did. How could he not? Steve just wasn't sure how much he knew about _him_. About his own mini break-down, so he erred on the side of caution. "Better," he added, and left it at that.

Tony nodded, but his eyes narrowed. Like he didn’t believe him. "That's good."

Steve nodded, glanced down, then looked back up, trying his goddamndest to smile in a way that would show Tony he really was okay. That Tony didn’t need to worry about him, or even think about him. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Steve,” Tony said.

“That’s good, Tony,” he answered. “I’m glad.”

They fell silent, looking at each other in the dim room. All around them the party was going on, but here it was quiet, the space between them heavy with all the years they had, both together and apart. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Tony’s girlfriend talking with Natasha and Bucky. He could see how pretty she was, how happy she looked, and his heart sank even lower. 

“I should go,” he said.

“No,” Tony said automatically, then stopped and bit his lip. He shook his head, shook his whole body, as if trying to rid himself of something. Rid himself of Steve, perhaps. He blew out a breath and the corners of his mouth lifted in a small, sad smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you staying with your mom?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m house-sitting for Bucky and Nat while they go on their honeymoon.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll see her in a couple days, though.”

“Tell her hi for me?”

“Sure,” Steve said, and this time when he held his hand out, Tony took it. Shook it. Let it go.

“It was nice to see you again, Steve.”

“You too.” 

He left.

That’s all. That was all. He just left. Left Tony standing there. Left his own heart in a burnt crumble on the floor, unacknowledged at Tony’s feet. And it was fine. More than fine--better. Just the way he had told Tony. It was better, _he_ was better, and he’d tell himself that too as soon as he got himself out the door. As soon as he got away from this crowd that contained not only a bunch of people he didn’t know, and would never know, but the man he knew better than anyone--loved better than anyone--and the woman that man was now in love with. He’d go to Bucky’s, and close the door, and get the fuck out of this suit and tie, and pour a drink, and throw it back, and pour another one, and bring the bottle back to the couch, and then, only then, would he tell himself it was better. Because it was only then that he would actually begin to believe it. This was better. He was better. They were all better. 

Better apart.

\---

What the fuck was he thinking?

He’d been standing out here for five minutes. It wasn’t cold, but there was a chill in the air now that hadn’t been there even two weeks ago that said fall was on the way. In California, he wouldn’t be feeling that chill at all. Not really, anyway. Not like here. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse about it. He wasn’t sure if he relished that change in temperature or hated it. Both, maybe. A little of both. But one thing was for sure, it was definitely there, that chill. And for a moment, a brief, frightening moment, he wondered if he was really only feeling it because he was here, standing in front of this door instead of back in his hotel room with Pepper. He’d be working at the desk now, if he was. She would probably be down in the gym, or maybe at the pool. She would come back in later, and they’d go over some more paperwork while they ate their room-service dinner, then make a couple calls, then crawl into bed together. They would probably have sex--they usually did, anyway--then they’d go to sleep, and the whole business would happen again in the morning. They had a routine, he and Pepper. It was a good one. A quiet, peaceful, predictable one. He liked it. He liked the stability of it. He needed it. He needed her. 

So, what the fuck was he thinking standing here outside this door?

He could leave. He hadn’t knocked yet. There was still plenty of time to cut and run. Plenty of _reason_ to do it, too. Why should he be here? Steve hadn’t asked him to come. In fact, he’d made it pretty fucking clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Tony at the reception, so just why was he torturing himself with this? Why couldn’t he just let it drop? Why couldn’t he just walk away? _Steve_ had. That much was so obvious it had smacked him in the face the entire time they had spent in each other’s presence tonight. Steve had been cold. Steve had been distant. Steve had all but told him in plain old English that he wished Tony would just leave him alone, and still...here he was. Standing on this stoop in the almost-fall chill, lifting his hand to knock on the door. Watching in fascination as it rose, knocked three times, and fell. 

_Knock three times… on the ceiling if you want me._

Who sang that? 

He knew. He knew them all. He could picture the guy who sang it, all chest hair and sexy-seventies mustache. Howard had owned that album. Weird to think about _that_ , but there it was.

_Twice on the pipe…_

But the door opened right then, and Steve was standing there, so apparently, that part of the song was irrelevant. At least to this situation.

“Hey,” Tony said.

Steve was frowning a little. Just a little. Like he was worried about something, worried, maybe, about just what the fuck Tony was doing here. “Hey?” turning it into a cool, polite question.

“Can I come in?” the words out of his mouth before he had even realized they were on his tongue.

Steve didn’t answer. He just moved aside and let Tony brush past him into the apartment. Tony heard the door close, the locks, three of them-- _knock three times--_ turned, and then there was just the quiet of the apartment. The city noise barely bled through, and why should it? This was a quiet street. Even at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, it was a quiet street. That was part of the reason why they lived here. So Bucky could have some quiet. He liked the quiet after what had happened. Tony wondered if Steve liked the quiet too, then realized what a stupid question that was. Of course, he liked the quiet. He always had. Even before living in a combat zone for so many years.

Tony had never been here before. He let his eyes roam the room for a moment, noticing the guitar in the corner, the stereo, the tv--both silent and dark--a couple houseplants on the windowsill. The kitchen was off the living room. The bedroom in the corner. It was plain and boring. No real life here, but that didn’t mean there would never _be_ life here. They’d only been here a month or two, and most of that had been spent either in the hospital therapy wing or planning a wedding. Life had been put slightly on hold for a while, but they could start working on it now. Tony had no doubt, seeing them together at the wedding, so much in love, that life would be first and foremost on their minds from here on out. He sighed, thinking about that. About life where none had existed before. He only stopped thinking about it when Steve crossed the room toward him. He didn’t think about new life then. He thought about an old one.

Steve didn’t touch him. Didn’t come near enough to touch him. He skirted around the other end of the couch and stopped at the entrance to the tiny kitchen. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, and gestured toward the cupboards with the glass already in his hand. 

Tony didn’t like the way he did that, gesturing with such familiarity and confidence with his glass. That had been Howard’s specialty. The ease of a veteran drinker. Tony frowned. “No,” he answered. “I’m good.”

“‘Kay,” Steve said simply, and sat back down on the sofa. There was a bottle there on the coffee table, and he splashed some into his glass, sipped it, then poured in a little more. “Do you want to sit down, at least?”

There was a chair on the other side of the coffee table, and Tony perched on the edge. He watched Steve swirl his whiskey in his glass, the ice cubes chattering against each other. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?” he asked.

Steve shrugged. “Checking up on me, I guess.”

“Did you need to be checked up on?”

“Don’t know,” Steve said, sipping his drink. “Maybe. Maybe Bucky and Nat thought I’d rip off their valuables or something and they hired you to come check and see.”

Tony snorted laughter through his nose. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to laugh, but _this_ was the Steve he had known. This dry humor. This tiny, pleased smile. He didn’t know who that other guy at the reception had been, but this was someone he could talk to. Someone he _wanted_ to talk to. Someone he’d missed talking to. It upset him that it had taken a bottle of whiskey to bring him out, but he was _here_ , and Tony was too happy to see him to get pissed off about how he'd gotten here.

Tony looked around the sparse apartment. “Looks like I’m too late. There’s not much here.”

Steve leaned back on the couch, rolling his head against the back of it to eye the bare walls. “Nah. They didn’t have much to begin with. I think the only really valuable thing they have is Bucky's collection of vintage _Playboy_ s, and I’ve seen those enough.”

Tony felt himself mimicking Steve’s posture, finally easing back into the chair. _“Playboy_ s, Steve?” he asked, marveling silently over how easily they had slipped into this banter. “Not really your style.”

“I said I’ve _seen_ them,” he emphasized. “I didn’t say I used them.” Steve finished his drink and put the glass on the table. He didn’t refill it. He just leaned back again, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. His sweater pulled taut against the outline of his chest, and Tony felt his stomach do a little flip-flop in his gut. Funny. It hadn’t done that in a long time. He’d almost thought he was too old for that sort of thing. Guess not. 

“I _have_ seen Bucky use them, though,” Steve went on, seemingly oblivious to Tony’s intestinal acrobatics. “But that’s something I’d really rather not think about right now. Or ever,” he said stolidly. “Again. If that’s okay with you.”

“And why is that, Steven?”

“Because it’s weird.”

Tony grinned. And he couldn’t help that either. God, what was _wrong_ with him? What the fuck was he doing here? What the fuck was he doing talking--flirting--with the one man he knew could, and would, fuck up his life more than anyone else in the entire world? Why was he purposely throwing himself into the lion’s den? “Weird because you didn’t like it, or weird because you liked it a little too much?”

“Tony.”

“Come on, Steve,” he coaxed, wanting to see him smile, wanting to make him blush, all the while hating himself for wanting that. “You can tell me.”

Steve didn’t disappoint him. That pretty blush heated his cheeks, he closed his eyes, bit his lip, and tipped his head back against the couch again. With that sweater, those jeans, his legs spread comfortably, he looked like every wet dream Tony had ever had. And when he opened his eyes, the glimmer of humor--mischief--in them just made it worse. Or better. Or whatever. It just made it more. More...everything. And Tony felt weak. So, so weak. Weak enough to know for sure what was going to happen, what he was going to let happen. Or _make_ happen. It was just a matter of time now. And a matter of will. His will. 

And Steve’s.

“Okay,” Steve said, as if relenting. “Okay, maybe I jerked off to him jerking off to them once.”

Tony gasped out an incredulous laugh. “ _What?_ ”

“Once.”

“I fucking knew it!”

That tiny, pleased smile. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“Oh my god,” Tony sighed, sinking further into the chair, giggling. And when was the last time he had giggled? Had he ever giggled? “Does he know?”

Steve shrugged. “Pretty sure he does. He was right there.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said again.

Steve laughed under his breath. He looked like he was enjoying this just as much as Tony was. He hadn’t even reached for his drink for a while. Not since they had really started talking. Tony felt an intense and immediate satisfaction in that. “It was one time,” Steve said softly, still smiling that little, enigmatic smile. “I think he felt sorry for me.” He shrugged again. “Or, you know, he was just being polite.”

“Well, I’m sure his parents would be very proud of him for being polite.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m never telling you anything ever again. You know that, don’t you, Stark?”

“Oh yes, you will,” Tony countered. “We both know you will.”

“Do we?”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve tipped his head a little from side to side. “Maybe,” he conceded, then grinned a wicked little grin. “But I’ll be more discerning next time.”

“No, you won’t,” Tony said and giggled again. He hadn’t had anything to drink all night except one glass of celebratory champagne two hours ago, so he couldn’t convince himself that this--all of this, this giddy, happy feeling, this warmth in his stomach, this tingly sensation in his nerve endings--was because he was drunk. Steve might be able to make that fly. The proof was right there on the table in front of him. The bottle was half gone, and Tony had no doubt it had been full when he’d started, but Tony himself couldn’t blame anything on drink. Part of him was worried about the consequences of that. Part of him was just glad it was true. You missed a lot when you were drunk. And as fucked up as this was, he wanted to remember it. He wanted to know that he’d been here. That he’d talked to Steve. That he’d made him laugh. He wanted to remember. He wanted to remember it all. 

“I am so glad I came over here tonight,” he said dreamily, and it was true. He was glad. In spite of everything, he was extremely glad.

He wasn’t sure how Steve felt, though, especially when his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Why _did_ you come over here tonight, Tony?”

Tony stopped giggling. The feeling in his gut--that flip-flop feeling--that made him feel all dreamy remained, but he stopped giggling. Steve’s eyes stayed on him, quiet and calm, but measuring. Like he knew the answer, but was waiting for Tony to say it. Maybe he was just being polite, too. 

Tony sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Steve,” he said. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you. We didn’t talk much before. At the wedding. Maybe I miss talking to you.”

“You could have called me,” Steve said quietly. “I wouldn’t have turned down a call from you, Tony. Not now. Maybe at the start. But not now.”

Tony sighed again. What the fuck was he doing here? “I _did_ call you,” he said. “Right after-” he gestured with his hand to his own side. The side where Bucky no longer had an arm. “But they told me you were gone. That you’d been transferred."

Steve nodded. “Sam helped me,” he said. “With the paperwork and stuff. I’d been there too long. I know that now. I-” he tensed, and leaned abruptly forward, reaching for the bottle on the table. He didn’t pour any, just caressed the curve of the bottle with one finger. Lovingly. Like a man touching his sleeping lover’s shoulder in the dark of night. “I should have left earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Steve,” Tony said, leaning forward himself, putting his elbows on his knees. “What happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” Steve answered, and now he did pour some whiskey into his glass. He downed it easily, and wiped moisture from his bottom lip. “I wasn’t paying attention. They were my responsibility, and I let them down.” He gulped another drink. “I got that kid killed.”

Tony stood up and settled himself at Steve’s side on the sofa. He picked the bottle up, recapped it, and sat it on the floor, far out of Steve’s reach. Steve didn’t even seem to notice. He was looking at his hands. Looking at them as if they were traitors to a cause. He clenched them into tight fists then let them hang loose between his knees again. It was only when Tony slipped his own hand into his left one that Steve looked at him. And even then, it was troubled. Hurt. Painful.

Tony squeezed his hand in between both of his. “That’s not what happened.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Tony agreed. “But Bucky was. He told me.”

Steve just shook his head. He didn’t take his hand away, but he cast his eyes at the ground again, refusing to look Tony’s way.

“And I know you,” Tony went on, holding his hand tighter. “We haven’t talked in a while, but I know you. You always put everybody ahead of yourself. Everybody. Your mom. Sam. Me. Fucking _Howard_ -”

“That’s not the same thing,” he insisted.

“No, ba-Steve, it’s not. I know it’s not. But it’s not exactly the way you think it is either.” Steve let out a harsh breath, and Tony pressed his shoulder against Steve’s hard bicep. “I know I can’t change your mind. Not right now. But I just want you to remember that you’re the only one who feels that way. Nobody, including Bucky and everybody who was in your unit, thinks it was your fault. They trust you. Present tense, Steve. They love you. Everybody loves you.” He brushed his fingers through the fine blond hair at Steve’s temple, then tapped it with the tip of his finger. “So get out of _here_ a little, okay?”

Steve looked at him out of the corner of his eye. His mouth bowed slighty. “I was trying,” he whispered. “But you took my bottle away.”

Tony dug a sudden knuckle into that sensitive place in his side, and Steve flinched, laughing involuntarily. But he didn’t let go of Tony’s other hand. He held it tightly in his own. “And stop drinking so much,” Tony said sternly. “I don’t like it.”

He smiled, shyly now, that blush back. “Yes, master.”

Tony bumped his shoulder against his arm again. “That’s more like it.”

Steve threaded his fingers through Tony’s, moving them restlessly against his palm. “I wish I’d been there when you called me,” he whispered.

“I wish _you_ had called _me_ ,” Tony said, then cocked his head. “You didn’t, did you? Call me? And I missed it?”

Steve shook his head immediately, his eyes never leaving their intertwined hands. “No,” he said. “No. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t have put you in that position. It would have been selfish.”

“It’s not selfish to ask for help when you need it, Steve,” he said, but he couldn’t help the way his heart fell just a little. He'd wondered since it had happened. Wondered a lot. Especially since it still would not have been too late nine months ago. They still could have made it work. 

Not like now.

“Not usually,” Steve said. “But to ask for help from you? After all the times I blew you off?” He traced his thumb over Tony’s knuckles, almost absently. “That would have been selfish. More than selfish. _Mean.”_

Tony leaned into him again. “Please. You don’t even know how to be mean,” he chided softly, and Steve smiled. Tony’s heart picked itself up, dusted itself off, and climbed back up into place.

“What would you have said?” Steve asked. “If we’d talked?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, and he hoped he sounded more convincing than he thought he did. Because he knew exactly what he would have said.

Steve clasped his hand tighter and tucked his head down onto Tony’s shoulder. “I kind of liked everything you just said,” he murmured, paused, then said, “well, except for the Bucky stuff. I should have taken that to the grave.”

“Hell, you’ve been dying to tell me,” Tony said, resting his own head on top of Steve’s, and he laughed in that soft, sweet way that always made Tony feel giddy. Always made him feel like he was flying. God, it had been so long since he felt that way. So long. Pepper, as much as he adored her, didn’t make him feel that way. None of the other lovers, girlfriends, boyfriends he’d had ever made him feel that way, either. It was just Steve. Just Steve.

Unable to help himself, Tony let his hand trail up the middle of Steve’s back, then up into his hair. It toyed with the curve of his ear, then smoothed the soft hair at the back of his neck. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it. He knew this was just inviting danger, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t, and he really didn’t want to. He knew it was wrong. He knew. He _knew_. But there was no stopping it. Not now, while he had Steve Rogers curled up against his side, his head on his shoulder, the comforting weight and warmth of him so enveloping, so enticing, so _here_. Here, when he hadn’t been anywhere near here in so fucking long. 

He pushed the love away. He could do that much, anyway. He pushed it away and just focused on the physical. Because that’s all this could be. That’s all he could give.

“Tony?” Steve said, as if he had read his mind. As if he had known exactly what Tony was thinking.

“Yeah?”

“Your girlfriend… Is it serious?”

Tony sighed. Ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “Yeah.”

Steve nodded. “Oh. Okay.” But he didn’t move. Neither of them did. 

Until they did.

Which one moved first? Was it Tony’s hand that found its way onto Steve’s inner thigh and began to stroke it subtly? Or was it Steve’s lips that brushed against the side of his neck? Softly. Just soft little touches of his mouth? Did it even matter?

Steve shifted, pressing against Tony’s side, and Tony's hand on his thigh squeezed, not-so-subtly, as Steve’s breath caressed his skin.

“I shouldn’t do this,” Tony whispered, even as he put his arm around Steve’s neck and pulled him closer.

“I’ll stop,” Steve said. He kissed Tony’s throat, traced the line of it with his tongue. “Just tell me to. And I will.”

Tony looked at him, looked into those eyes that he still dreamed about, still thought about every single day. He cupped Steve’s cheek, brushed his thumb along that high cheekbone. “It can only be once, Steve,” he said. “Just once, okay? Just tonight. She and I-” he shook his head, “-it really is serious. Okay?”

Steve nodded, turned his head to nuzzle into Tony’s palm. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is."

Tony lay back and tugged on Steve’s t-shirt until he was hovering above him. “That’s the way it has to be.” He put his hand on Steve’s waist, under his shirt to feel his skin, his soft, sweet, familiar skin. 

Steve leaned down to press a kiss against Tony’s collarbone. “Okay, Tony. That’s okay.”

“If it’s not...tell me now. I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you.”

Steve shook his head, slipped his hand along Tony’s side, across his stomach, and touched the button of his jeans. “I don’t. I understand. It’s okay.”

“Really?”

Steve nodded. “Really.”

Tony reached up and touched his lips, traced them with his finger. He could feel the tears in his throat, but he kept them away by sheer force of will. He curled his hand around Steve’s neck. “I missed you so much,” he said, and the tears didn’t fall, but they cracked his voice just a little.

Steve lay flush against him. He brushed Tony’s hair back. “I’m here now.”

And then Steve was kissing him, and everything else was gone. All that remained was Steve. Just Steve. 

\---

They lay together afterward. Bucky and Nat’s bed was larger than Steve’s single one, but it didn’t really matter. They still crowded together on one side, leaving the other untouched. Neither of them thought about it. It just happened. It was just muscle memory.

Tony lay on his side, his head pillowed on Steve’s firm bicep. Steve’s other arm was around him, holding him tight to his chest. Tony could feel his breath against the back of his neck, feel his heat, the angular planes of his body that were so different from Pepper’s lean curves. He could hear a clock ticking, the sound of Steve’s easy respiration, and that was all.

It was perfect.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his voice coming out of the darkness.

“Mmm,” Tony sighed. He touched Steve’s arm with gentle fingers. “Mm-hmm.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m good. Better than good.”

Steve kissed his shoulder. “You’re quiet,” he said. “You’re never quiet when you’re good.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

He laughed lazily and kissed him again. “You can’t have changed that much.”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long time.”

“I guess so.”

Tony turned his head enough to brush his lips against Steve’s arm. The skin beneath his lips was smooth like silk. Soft like silk. “I was just thinking,” he sighed. 

“Uh-oh.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” he said, and Steve laughed again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and squeezed Tony tightly in his arms. He kissed his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, then squeezed him again. “What were you thinking about?”

Tony considered giving him the silent treatment--just for a few minutes, of course--then reconsidered. That was ridiculous. He didn’t want to do that. He _wanted_ to talk to Steve. For as long as he had him here, he wanted to talk to him. “How easy this is,” he murmured. “When it’s just you and me. How it only gets hard when we have to bring other people into it.”

“So, let’s not bring other people into it,” Steve said. 

“And how do you propose we do that, Steven?”

Steve was quiet for a minute, his arms tightening again, then his voice, dark and soft, “I still remember the way to the lake house,” he said. “It’s still not too late to run away.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I wish that was true.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Me too.” He pressed his mouth against Tony’s shoulder again, and kept it there without moving, just holding him, then, after a while, “Do you ever...think about that?” he asked in a halting way. “What it would have been like? If...we’d...made it work?”

“Of course, I do. Do you?”

Steve nodded against his shoulder. “Every day.”

Tony let out a harsh breath. “This sucks.”

Steve was silent for a moment. Tony could feel him thinking, feel the tension in his muscles, the arms holding him almost thrumming. He wanted to tell him to stop thinking. Stop thinking about whatever he was thinking about because it was scaring him, but he didn’t. Part of him--that part that still wanted him--needed to hear what he had to say. Even if it broke both their hearts, he needed to hear.

“Maybe we could make it work now.”

Stupid fucking heart.

“Steve-”

“No, Tony, listen,” Steve said, and in spite of himself, in spite of everything, Tony listened. “I’m stationed here now. Or almost, anyway. Jersey. And I know you spend a lot of time in California, but that’s not that far. Not really. Not like Afghanistan-far.”

“Steve-”

“And I know we’ve had a lot of...stuff, but we’re older now. Things have changed. I think _I’ve_ changed. I’m trying to, at least. I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to-”

“Steve-”

He gripped Tony painfully tight, but Tony didn’t move. Didn’t even try to get away, and when Steve spoke, it was with a dark urgency that made Tony’s heart beat dangerously fast. “I can be the man you need now, Tony. I know I can. If you let me try, I can-”

“Steve, I can’t. I can’t."

The arms holding him loosened, and Tony clenched his eyes tightly shut. “You really love her,” he said quietly. 

“It’s not that simple,” Tony said, and to his surprise, Steve laughed. 

“When has anything ever been simple for us, Tony?”

Tony breathed out a laugh of his own, then twisted in Steve’s arms so he could face him. Steve let his head rest on the pillow and smiled at him. Just a little. Just a tiny one, but it was filled with a warmth that Tony hadn’t thought possible in a moment like this. A moment where they were essentially breaking up--again. Tony touched his mouth with one finger, traced his lips, then ran up through his hair. Steve just stayed silent, watching him, that little smile on his face.

“I hate that it’s like that,” Tony said. “I hate that we could never get it together enough to _be_ together. It’s not fair.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Steve said. His hand found one of Tony’s, and he brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “If she makes you happy, then it’s for the best. If you love her more than-” he paused, kissed Tony’s hand again, “then it’s for the best.”

“She’s having a baby,” Tony sighed. “I- _we_ -are having a baby.”

Steve closed his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and shuddered it out, but he didn’t let go of Tony’s hand. He held it tighter.

“That’s why I can’t,” Tony said tonelessly. “Not because I love her more than you. It’s not even possible for me to love her more than you. But I can’t bail on her. I can’t. Not even for you. I have to be a better father than Howard was to me.”

Steve’s tears caught in the moonlight coming through the window. They left shining tracks down his once-pale cheeks. He clutched Tony’s hand in his. “A family,” he said in a quavering voice, that came through the smile still on his lips. “That’s great, Tony. Really.” He shook his head and breathed out. He didn’t brush his tears away. He must have known there would be no point. “I can’t give you that. I could never give you that.” He kissed Tony’s hand again, pressing his lips hard against his fingers. “See?” he said when he pulled away. “It really is for the best.”

Tony put his arms around his neck and pulled him close, burying his head in Steve’s bare shoulder. His own tears were falling now. Steve slipped his arm around Tony’s waist and held him tight. “Doesn’t feel like it’s for the best,” Tony muttered, “It feels like I’m constantly getting kicked in the nuts.”

Steve laughed, gasping it out in a way that sounded like a sob. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it does.”

They held each other for a long time, crying, laughing, just being together one last time, and later, when Tony left, Steve lay in Bucky’s bed with his arm over his eyes, telling himself that it was okay. Telling himself that it was for the best. That all he’d ever wanted was for Tony to be happy. And he would be. Now. 

By the time he got out of bed around three o’clock pm, he almost believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be much, much darker. There was going to be pain, and death, and way more sad, but i really must be going through something, because I can't seem to make it that dark. There's still going to be some drama, but it's not going to be anywhere near what I had originally planned. I'm thinking three more chapters. Pretty sure it will be three. Maybe two, but probably three.  
> See you all soon! Ish.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears and pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's another one that I have to get away from me. This is really only half the chapter, but I'm splitting it up for my own peace of mind. I'll post the next half in a few days. I'm shooting for Thursday. Let's see if I make it.

TWENTY-SEVEN 

He had a few days off, so he came home. She met him at the door when he came in and immediately began snipping at him, telling him he was too thin--even though he had actually gained a little weight since coming back stateside. Telling him he looked too pale--even though he didn’t think he was anywhere near as pale as he had been as a kid. Telling him if he didn’t stop smoking she was going to kick his damn ass for him--even though… nah. She had a point there.

He kissed her cheek, and protested when she said she was going to go cook him a real meal. “We can just go out, Mom,” he said. “You don’t need to-”

“Absolutely not. I never get to cook for you anymore.”

“I was home a couple weeks ago.”

“A _month_ , Steve. That’s not enough for me.”

He gave up. He knew there was no point.

“‘Kay,” he said. “I’ll go throw my stuff in my room and come help.”

“Take your time,” she said, already rattling pans in the kitchen.

He slung his bag up over his shoulder and started into the bedroom. His eyes moved over the pictures on the wall, just like they always did. He barely even saw them anymore. Usually. He’d seen them so often now, they just blended into the scenery. But not this time. 

He stopped. His bag slid off his shoulder and he let it thump back to the ground as he went over to the wall. “Mom,” he called. “Who’s this?”

But he knew. He could see. He’d have to be blind not to see.

“Morgan,” Sarah said, coming up behind him. “Isn’t she beautiful?” 

Steve nodded automatically. “Yeah.”

“She looks just like Tony.”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

She did. She was still just a baby--a round-faced, smiling baby--but she had the same dark hair, the same dark eyes. He could see Tony in those eyes. Like there was something going on behind them. Something either far too sophisticated, or far too funny for normal people to understand. Looking at it, seeing it in someone else, a child, _Tony’s_ child, hurt him. Hurt him in ways he could barely fathom. He remembered lying in bed with him, looking at him, trying so hard to not let his entire world shatter again, telling Tony he could never give him a family. That being apart was for the best because Pepper could.

Did.

And here it was. A pretty little girl, decked out in a red dress, smiling into a camera, looking so much like Tony that Steve felt sick to his stomach. Feeling those old sensations of want, and grief, and pain surge up inside him again, threatening to take him over. He put his hand in his pocket and closed it over his six-month chip. He’d backslid a few times since trying to get sober, but he had six months now. Six long months. He ran his thumb over the face of it, then clenched it tight in his fist.

“Steve?” Sarah asked, her voice dark with concern. She put her hand on his back. “Do you want me to take it down?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He ripped his eyes away from the picture--from the family he could never have. “No, Mom. It’s okay.”

She reached past him toward the frame. “I shouldn’t have put it up. I’m sorry, honey. I-”

He gripped her wrist in his before she could take the picture down. He did it gently but firmly, not wanting to hurt her--her wrist or her feelings. “Really, Mom,” he said. “It’s okay. I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know he’d sent you a picture. I didn’t know you guys even still talked.”

“Not often,” she said softly. “Every couple of months. Just for a minute or two.” She frowned, her face filled with sorrow. “I’ll stop if it bothers you,” she said. “I’ll tell him-”

“No,” he said, and brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed her fingers then released her. “It’s good you keep in touch. He loved you. Before. You know.” He let out a breath and tried to smile for her. “I’m glad you’re still in his corner, Mom. He needs that, I think.”

She put her hand against his cheek and held it there. He didn’t know how much she knew about his and Tony’s relationship. He hadn’t told her anything. If she knew anything, it came from Tony himself. And from mother’s intuition and her own eyes. Because they were searching his face now, probing out his secrets, making him feel raw and exposed, like a live wire. 

After a moment, she drew him closer and put her arms around his neck. “My sweet boy,” she said, and rubbed his back with the same tender strokes he remembered from when he was a little boy, sick in his bed.

Questions rose up in his head as he let her hug him. _What’s wrong with me, Mom?_ _Why can’t I hold onto anything good? Why do I let it slip through my fingers every time?_ But, of course, he didn’t ask her those questions. Not now, not when he was just barely home and they had three days together. Especially since she was right--the time they did have never seemed like enough. Not to bother her with this. With stupid questions he already knew the answer to. Things he had figured out over the last two years, but hadn't admitted to himself until he decided to really get serious about getting sober eight months ago. That was when he finally stopped worrying about it so much. When he stopped thinking about it all the time. When he stopped looking at couples on the street and thinking, _When is it my turn?_

He stopped doing that because he knew. Deep down, he always knew.

He couldn't hold on to happiness because he wasn't _capable_ of happiness. It was the only thing that made sense. It was beyond him. He would--and did--push it away, run from it, hide from it, sabotage it either knowingly or unknowingly every single time it got close. It was just who he was. It was bred into his DNA. It was part of him. Some people just weren't designed to be happy. They-- _he--_ didn't have the strength to hold onto it. 

So there was no point dwelling on it. _Brooding_ on it. He just decided to let it go. Focus on other things. Leave the dreams of love and home and family to those who could handle it. To those who actually had a shot at getting it someday.

He squeezed her tight one time, then stepped away. “I’m gonna go take a shower, okay?” he said, trying to make his voice sound normal and not choked with tears. “Then I’ll come help with dinner.”

She looked at him with flat worry. He knew she came by it honestly, but he still felt bad that it was there. That he'd put it there. “You can talk to me, honey,” she said, gripping his hand in hers. “You know that, don't you? I want you to talk to me when you need to. Anytime. About anything.”

He smiled at her, and he felt some of the pain ebbing away again. He still had _this_. Even if he never got to have a family of his own, he still had her. He held her hand in one of his. The other was still in his pocket. Still holding his six-month chip. “I’m okay,” he said, and was glad to hear his voice really did sound okay now. “I know I can talk to you. And I will, if I need to. But I’m okay right now. I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She scrutinized him for a moment, her sharp eyes boring into his. He let her. He owed her that after everything he'd put her through. Finally, she nodded, satisfied with what she saw, at least for now. “Alright. Go shower, then come help me.”

“‘Kay. Be right out.”

He chucked his stuff into the bedroom, then went into the bathroom to shower. Standing under the hot spray, he tried hard to not think. He tried to just clear his mind of everything. It was getting a little easier. Even without the help of a drink when he needed it, clearing his mind was getting easier. He still _wanted_ the drink. He didn't think he'd ever not want it, but he was finding ways to go without it. And that was good. It felt good. Like a win.

When he came out, they cooked dinner together just like they used to. Steve watched his mother while they chopped vegetables and pan-fried chicken breasts. He watched her face, and the way she moved, loving the familiarity of it on one hand, but growing worried on the other. 

Because she looked a little pale too.

She looked too thin. 

When she reached for a wooden spoon or a set of tongs, sometimes her mouth would turn sharply down for a fraction of a second before smoothing out again and curving back up into her usual smile. 

He watched her and his own intuition began to add things up on a big mental chalkboard. So, later, after dinner was gone, and the leftovers were put away, and they were sitting at the table with pieces of pie and cups of hot coffee, and he asked her what was wrong, he wasn’t totally surprised when she told him. _Shocked_ , yeah, of course, because deep down, no child--either young or old--really believes their parents are anything but immortal, untouchable, god-like creatures, even if they know better. So, shocked, yes. 

But not surprised.

\---

He took her to her next appointment with the oncologist, and they worked out a plan of attack. Surgery first, followed by several rounds of chemotherapy. The tumor was small--they had found it early, thank God--but it was best to get on it asap. 

Steve went back to the base and spoke to his commanding officer. He requested and was approved for emergency leave, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he was back home for longer than four days at a stretch.

Sarah’s surgery was set for the next week, and they spent the time before then cramming everything they could into it. Both of them were utterly convinced that everything would be fine, that Sarah would beat this and be fine, but it was a near compulsion for them to spend every second of the week leading up to surgery doing everything Sarah loved, just in case. They went to the movies, and played cards, and went to Coney Island and rode The Cyclone three times. They bought hot dogs from a street vendor and wandered through Central Park. They went to all her favorite little art galleries, and Steve ignored the pang he felt in his heart as she exclaimed over the paintings and compared them to his own in a way only a mother could. 

They had Sam and his parents over for dinner two nights before the surgery. Sam brought his girlfriend Wanda along, and she spent the evening talking about her brother, looking at Steve the entire time. When they were finished eating, Sam followed Steve into the kitchen and nudged him in the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath so no one else could hear. “I tried to tell her not to do that, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head fondly.

“It’s okay,” he said, nudging him back. “It’s nice of her, really.”

“She means well. And he really is a nice guy.”

Steve laughed a little. “They’re twins, right? ‘Course he’s nice. Unless he’s the evil twin.”

“I think _she_ might be the evil twin,” he said, then grinned. “And I’m not complaining _at all.”_

“Really?” Steve said. “In my mother’s kitchen, Sam? What the fuck?”

“Language, Rogers,” Sam said, and they both laughed, leaning into each other, their heads together, Sam’s arm around Steve’s neck. When the laughter died down, Sam tightened his hold, hugging Steve to him. “I’ll tell her to back off a little, okay? I know you’re not in that headspace right now.”

Steve squeezed him back, loving that he could do that. It seemed like a long time since he’d hugged his best friend. “Thanks. Tell her I appreciate it. I do. But.” He shrugged, and Sam nodded.

“I know.” He released him, but looked him seriously in the eye. “But when you are--and I really hope someday soon you are--I’m going to give you Pietro’s number. He really is a nice guy.”

“Deal,” Steve said. But he knew he wouldn’t be. At least not any time soon.

\---

They left for the hospital at five o’clock the next day. Since Sarah worked at the hospital, the admission process was quicker than it ordinarily would have been, and she was in her room by six. Steve sat in the hallway while she dressed in her softest pajamas, then came back into her room and settled himself in the chair by her bed.

“Go home, honey,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I want you to get some real sleep tonight.”

“No. I’m staying.”

“Visiting hours are almost over."

He shrugged. “Don’t care. I’m staying.”

She gripped his chin with her fingers and shook his head a little. “Stubborn,” she said in a sweet, warm tone. “Just like your father was.”

“Just like my mother _is_.”

Sarah laughed softly, then lay back. “Promise me you’ll go home after the surgery, okay? It’s not going to do you or me any good to hang around here all day long. I want you to go home. Eat. Shower. Sleep. Okay?”

“Mom-”

“Steven,” she said, and he closed his mouth with a snap. Funny to think that she could still do that to him even after all this time. “I’m serious. I’ll be asleep most of the day anyway, and when I do wake up, I’ll be on pain meds. I won’t even know you’re here.”

“Then you won’t know if I’m _not_ here either.”

She gripped his hand tightly and leveled him with her stern-Mom look. “Just because you’re not a kid anymore doesn’t mean you get to ignore what I say.”

He flushed deep red, and nodded. “Sorry, Mom.”

She softened, but kept his hand in hers. She gazed at him, her head on the pillows, her eyes warm and bright with unshed tears. “I’m so lucky to have you,” she whispered. “You’re the best thing in the world. The best thing I ever did.”

Steve rested his head on their clasped hands. His own tears threatened, but he kept them at bay. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, honey.” She loosed her hand from his and used it to smooth his hair back from his forehead. She kept doing it for a long time. He let her. It was soft. Soothing. Maybe it was selfish to take in that comfort, but he thought it was okay. He thought it was probably soothing for her too. He hoped it was, anyway, because he wasn’t ready to let it stop. Especially since part of his mind kept nagging at him, telling him it might be the last time he felt it. She might die on the operating table. Or if not on the table, then shortly after from the malignancy in her ovary. Telling him she would die and he’d be alone. All alone. Forever.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and groped his hand out until it could curl around a fold of her pajama pants. He clutched it in his fist, feeling the heat of her calf through the fabric, and he drew as much comfort from that as he could. His other hand slipped into his pocket and grasped his sobriety chip. He drew comfort from that too.

\---

They wheeled her out of her room early the next morning. Dr. Mickelsen came in first, and they went over the surgery again, just so they all knew what was going to happen. Steve wasn’t sure if this was SOP for all patients, or if Sarah was getting a little more personalized treatment since she worked here, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that he was grateful. He liked knowing there was a clear-cut plan. The doctor seemed methodical and precise, and Steve liked that too. It called to his own military mind-set. It put him even more at ease.

That didn’t mean his mind was _easy_ , but it wasn’t jumping-off-the-walls-shrieking-in-the-night either, so he counted that as a victory.

Sarah held his hand one more time as the nurse injected anesthesia into her IV. “It’s going to be okay, honey,” she said, and Steve nodded. He couldn’t speak. His tongue was locked to the roof of his mouth and refused to budge. “I love you. Okay? I love you, and it’s going to be fine.” He nodded. 

Her eyes drifted shut, then popped back open. “Go home and sleep,” she said, lifting a finger to point at him. “I’m serious.” 

He nodded again.

And then they were wheeling her away, down the hallway, through doors that led to another hallway, that led to an operating room and a surgeon’s knife, and he knew nothing about what else waited for her down there. Or what was waiting for him. He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands, trying to clear his mind. He couldn't quite do it, but he tried hard.

\---

It took a long time. 

He went out for a cigarette right after they took her away, and half an hour later, his leg was bouncing, his hands shaking, his need for another hit of sweet, soothing nicotine almost insurmountable. And he hated that. He had been doing a lot better lately. He had been down to eight a day. He thought he might hit that by the time the surgery was over.

There was a television in the waiting room, and he tried to focus on that. He tried to pay attention to the insipid morning talk-show hosts, but he couldn’t. It just made him feel even more jittery. His eyes kept straying to the clock on the wall, but in true cliche fashion, the hands refused to move as fast as he wanted them to. And just the way it always did when he was feeling overwhelmed or sad, his mind turned to Tony. Steve wondered how it would feel to have him here with him right now, either telling him jokes to keep his mind occupied, or telling him everything would be okay.

Steve clasped his hands together, and tried to imagine that it was Tony’s hand holding his. He remembered exactly what it felt like. Exactly. He remembered the strength in those hands. How steady and firm they were. How they always made Steve feel better whenever they were on him. How they made him feel cared for. Loved.

He wondered what Tony was doing right now. Wondered what he would do if he knew about Steve’s mom. The two of them were still friends. They spoke to each other. Tony had cared enough to send her a picture of his baby girl, and Sarah had cared enough to hang it on the wall along with the family pictures. That meant something. It meant something to Sarah, and that meant something to Steve.

_Tony should know about this._

And the second the thought was fully formed in his mind, Steve knew for certain that it was true. Tony should know. He deserved to know, and Sarah deserved to have him know. He thought about calling him, but he didn’t think he could do that. They hadn’t spoken in a long time. It seemed a little strange to just call him up out of the blue, especially with news like this.

He got to his feet and started to pace. Sam had promised he’d be here as soon as he checked on his own patients at the care center where he worked, and while Steve had been anxious for him to show up before, now he was nearly frantic. 

_I need a drink_ , he thought distractedly, and then he saw Sam walking toward him, and his shaking hands stilled.

“Steve,” Sam said when he reached him, and pulled him into a rough hug. “Do we know anything?”

Steve sunk into him, and every thought, even the ones of Tony, disappeared. “Not yet. But it’s been two hours. They said it should only take three.”

Sam gripped his shoulders and looked him over. “You look like shit,” he said plainly. “I didn’t want to say it the other night with everybody around, but you look like shit. When was the last time you slept through the night?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. It was still short, but he hadn’t shaved in a week. “Nine years ago.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and patted his cheek. “And this? This whole lumberjack look you’ve got going on?”

Steve shrugged. 

“You’ve lost weight too. I know you’re worried, but fuck, man, you’ve got to take better care of yourself. You’ve got to eat. And sleep. And-”

“Sam-”

“No,” he snapped, “I’m serious,” then let out a heavy, sudden sigh. His shoulders fell and he smiled a little. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to jump on you. I’m worried too.”

Steve hugged him again. “I know. It’s okay.”

Sam held him tight. “How’s the…?” he asked, and Steve knew exactly what he meant.

“It was pretty bad the other night,” Steve answered into Sam’s ear. “But Mrs. Perkins came up to sit with Mom and I went to a meeting. I’m okay.”

“Have I told you how fucking proud I am of you for that?”

Steve squeezed him and let him go, laughing a little. “Yeah,” he said. “You have. Few times.”

“I mean it every time.”

“I know.”

They sat down, side-by-side. The TV had switched to morning game shows, and they both stared blankly up at the screaming, gasping contestants winning cars and losing solid oak bedroom sets. Sam kept his hand locked firmly on Steve’s wrist, giving him an anchor, and Steve concentrated on that more than anything. Just that touch, that point of contact that meant he wasn’t alone in this. He had someone here with him. A friend. A _brother_. And that helped. Helped him feel a little more under control. A little more centered. 

He had lost the need for a drink, but he still wanted a cigarette. With Sam here though, he thought he could hold out another hour, anyway.

Not long after one game show swapped for another--and Steve didn’t even pretend to care about this one. His limit for pricing games and fabulous prizes hidden behind Door Number One had been reached and surpassed--Dr. Mickelsen came into the room. He was still in his scrubs, his mask hanging down around his chin. There was a drop of blood on one pant-leg. Steve’s eyes went immediately there, and didn’t move. Blood. His mother’s blood.

Sam elbowed him, and he tore his eyes away to look at the doctor. 

“She’s in recovery now,” he was saying, his voice pleasant and mild. “I’m keeping her overnight, but you can take her home in the morning.”

“She has to stay another night?” Steve asked, his worry and fear raging. “I thought-”

Mickelsen held up his hand. It was manicured and maintained. “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “We just want to make sure she’s fully-rested before she goes home. We’re pretty protective of her here.”

Steve bristled, his face turning hard. Sam put his hand on his shoulder and gripped it tight. “Okay,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady. “But she’d be able to rest at home, too.”

“Of course she would,” the doctor said. “But if we keep her another night, we won’t have to rush her, and if there are any issues that come up-” Steve opened his mouth, but Mickelsen overrode him, “-which is a very small possibility, but a possibility nonetheless, we can take care of them right away.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “He’s right. If they’re offering her another night, take it.”

Steve nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to be selfish. This was for his mother. If she needed it, and it was available to her, he’d take it. And fuck his own feelings. This was for her. All for her. “Okay. Can I see her? I wanna see her.”

“She’s still sleeping, and she will be for a while yet, but you can see her for a moment.”

“Good,” Steve said. 

“Thank you,” Sam said, and Steve blushed.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Doctor Mickelsen led them down the hallway and pointed them to the doorway. Sam stayed outside while Steve slipped through the door. He went to his sleeping mother, and kissed her. He sat down and held her hand. He ignored how much he wanted to cry. How much he wanted a cigarette. How much he wanted a drink. He shoved it aside and just held her hand, wishing he could crawl up onto the bed and lie beside her the way he used to do when he was six years old and had a nightmare.

He sat with her for a while, watching her sleep, and when she didn’t wake up, barely even moved, he stood up, kissed her again, whispered, “I love you, Mom,” and left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Sam looked up when he came out and sat down. “How is she?”

Steve shook his head. “Sleeping.”

“That’s good,” Sam said. “She needs to rest.”

“Okay,” Steve muttered and ran his hands through his hair. His desire for a cigarette was starting to become an intense _need_. 

Sam put his hand on Steve’s shoulder again. “What’s going on?”

“Just worried.”

“No,” Sam said. “This is more than worried. This is...something else.”

Steve drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t articulate what he was thinking, because he wasn’t even _sure_ what he was thinking. He felt fear, and pressure, and a sharp, piercing loneliness that he just couldn’t shake. Sam was here, and he could not be more grateful, but when it came right down to it, without his mother, he was alone. All alone. He had no one but her. No one. And if something happened to her--when she died, hopefully, far far in the future--he would be alone for real.

All alone.

“Um,” he said, exhaling, “can you stay here with her for a little while? I have an errand to run.”

“What kind of errand?” Sam asked. 

“Just...just an errand. It won’t take long. Please?”

“On one condition.”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“You go home after your errand and sleep for at least four hours.” Steve opened his mouth to protest, but just like the doctor earlier, Sam overrode him. “And I’d feel better if you just came back in the morning. You’re exhausted. I really don’t think you _have_ slept in nine years. Have you?”

Steve wanted to deny it, but all of a sudden, it felt like he hadn’t. That he’d just been awake for nearly a decade, and it wouldn’t be long before he died himself. Before he just tumbled into that abyss that had followed him around since he was a kid. Sometimes it had been hidden from his view, but it was always there. Always. And today it felt closer than it had in a long time. Almost as close as that night in Chicago. That night he wished he’d had his pistol so he could put the barrel between his teeth. Taste the gun-oil. Feel the sight scraping against the roof of his mouth, then pull the trigger. Just pull the trigger.

And he found himself nodding. “Okay, Sam,” he said, his head in his hands. “Okay.”

“Thank god.”

Steve hugged him one more time, then retreated back down the hallway. His mind was a swirling tempest, throwing up images of his mother, Tony, Jonathon Juniper, Howard Stark, even his own father, dredging them up from the pits of his subconscious where they slumbered ninety-nine percent of the time, only coming out when he was in intense pain. When he was at his lowest.

He left the hospital and lit a smoke on his way out the door. There was a sign saying no smoking within twenty-five feet of the entrance, but by the time he got it lit, he was already that far away, and he was still walking. Walking like a man on a mission. Walking like he had always walked when he _was_ a man on a mission. Because he was. In a way. He’d called it an ‘errand’ when talking to Sam, but in his head, it was a mission. Something he had to do. Something he’d been tasked with. An order from someone higher up than he. And he knew how to follow orders. He knew that if he knew nothing else.

He couldn’t call Tony. He’d already decided that would never work, but he knew where the Stark Industries offices were. Sure, he did. He passed by it sometimes. When he did, he never looked at it. He just kept walking with his head down, his hands shoved into his pockets, trying to look like a man who didn’t know anything about anyone in that building. That it meant nothing to him. 

He did the same thing now, right up until he reached for the polished brass handle and opened the door.

He’d never been inside. The lobby reminded him of the Stark’s penthouse apartment. It was very cold, very beautiful, all marble and glass and chrome. There were people milling around, gawking like he was, interspersed with people rushing from here to there with purpose, sheafs of paper in their hands, or cell phones pressed to their ears. He looked around, unsure what to do or where to go. There was a reception desk, and he made his way over to it.

The woman at the desk looked up expectantly when he reached the desk. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Um,” he muttered, slipping his hand through his hair. “I’m looking for Stark Industries?”

“You found it,” she said brightly. “Department?”

He swallowed. He had no idea. “I...I don’t know. I just...Wherever Tony Stark works, I guess.”

She smiled at him. Just a natural, friendly smile, and it put him at ease for the first time since walking through the door. “You probably want R and D,” she said. “That’s where Mr. Stark spends most of his time.” She typed something on her computer. “I’m not sure if he’s here today,” she went on. “He usually works out of the L.A. office.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I don’t even really need to talk to him personally. I thought...I thought I could just leave him a message or something. Can you-”

“Steve?”

Steve closed his eyes. He'd known. How the fuck had he known this would happen? His hands clenched into fists, as he took a deep breath then let it out.

The receptionist kept smiling. “We’re in luck,” she said, her eyes flicking curiously from Steve to Tony standing behind him, a cup of coffee in his hand, his sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on top of his head. “He _is_ here. Hello, Mr. Stark.”

Steve opened his eyes finally. “Yeah,” he said. “Lucky.” He turned a little, trying to smile. Trying really hard. But he couldn’t do it. Not after the night he’d had. Not after the history that hung between them. “Hi, Tony.”

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Tony said.

“Yeah.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Tony said, and now he came closer. His eyes roved over Steve’s face, the beard that covered his cheeks, his body, thinner now than it had been last time they'd seen each other. The cup in his hand trembled just the slightest bit as he looked at him. Steve let him look. He had to. He couldn’t move. He was frozen in place. “My god,” Tony breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, looking at the ground. “I didn’t think you’d be here. I was just leaving you a message.”

Tony stepped closer, and Steve resisted the urge to take a step backward, to keep the same distance between them. That scent. That scent of secrets and spice and oak that Steve remembered so well from before--from every before they’d ever had, save the very first one--made its way toward him and enveloped him in its comforting familiarity, and he wanted to just go to him. Just go to him and fall into his arms. Just wrap himself up in him and never ever move again. But he couldn’t. God. He couldn’t.

“What kind of message?” Tony asked. His voice seemed faint. Steve wasn’t sure if that was because Tony was speaking quietly, or out of some trick of his own auditory senses. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It didn’t fucking matter. Just tell him what was going on and get out. Get out.

But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t. Suddenly, it was all too much. Standing here in this gracious, chilly environment, standing here with Tony so close, and his mother so far, and he was tired, so fucking _tired_.

“Tony,” he whispered, and there were tears just on the threshold. Held back by only his desire to not be watched by the pretty, friendly receptionist while he cried. Watched, and then talked about after he was gone, because she might not talk about the guy who came in to give Mr. Stark a message, but if the guy _cried_ , she wouldn’t be able to help herself. He knew she wouldn’t. 

Tony saw. Saw and understood. “Come on,” he said briskly, putting his hand on Steve’s arm. “Let’s go to my office. ‘Kay?” Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even try. Tony was holding his arm. He just focused on that. “Karen, no calls, please,” he said over his shoulder as he steered Steve away. 

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

Steve was silent, letting Tony take control, letting him lead him like a kid down the hallway toward his office. He just put one foot in front of the other, following Tony’s lead with his head down until Tony ushered him into his office and closed the door behind them. He kept his head down even when they were inside. He kept his head down until Tony said, “What’s going on?” He looked up then, and Tony fell back a step, struck by how old he looked. How hollow.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I know I shouldn’t be here, Tony. I didn’t mean to make things...weird for you, but-” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Tony stood by the door. His hand was behind him, resting on the knob. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d locked it or not. He supposed it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like they were going to fall into each other’s arms. That was over. That part of what they’d been was gone. Just looking at Tony’s desk solidified that. Looking at the photos there. The photos of his daughter. His wife. His family.

“You didn’t make it weird,” Tony said. “What’s going on?”

Steve bit his lip. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then closed, trying to keep the tears back. “My mom,” he choked out, and Tony closed the distance between them. He grasped his arm again, holding him tight in his fist. 

“What about her?” he asked sharply. “Steve? What about her?”

Steve swallowed. “She’s sick.” His lip started to tremble, and when he looked at Tony at last, large tears over-spilled his lashes. “Tony,” he whispered miserably. “Tony, she’s sick.”

He couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He’d been able to stop them with his mother. He’d been able to stop them with Sam, but not here. Not now. Not with Tony. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t stop the way he curled into himself even as he stood in Tony’s plush office, either. He was tired. Hurt. Sick with worry and fear and loneliness. 

And Tony was there. 

Just like he had been before. So many times. So many times over the years. He was there, and he folded him into his arms, slipping them around him and holding him close. Whispering in his ear, “Shh. Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” And for the moment, Steve didn’t even care if it was true. He was just glad Tony’s arms were around him again. 

He was just glad he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm heaping a lot onto poor Steve. I know. I'm not a fan of hurting him--or anyone--but I need a conduit for pain, and for some reason, I just gravitate to him. I love him the most. And I hurt him the most. I don't know what that says about me, but it's probably nothing good.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short, but it IS technically only half a chapter XD  
> Let's call it 17.5.

TWENTY-SEVEN 

Tony took him to a coffee shop, and they sat together on opposite sides of the booth, Tony sitting sideways, one leg stretched out on the seat beside him, Steve leaning forward, holding his mug in both hands as if trying to warm them.

“He said they got it all,” Steve said, eyes searching for the bottom of his mug even through the murky coffee inside. “Chemo comes next.” He paused. Swallowed. Sighed. “She’ll lose her hair.” He ran a hand through his own. It was still thick and luxurious. Sarah’s was too--at least for now. “That’s a stupid thing to think about. I know. I mean, who the fuck cares, right? Except _she_ cares. She never talks about my dad much, but she told me the other night how much he used to love her hair. Said he brushed it sometimes.” Steve wiped his eyes with one hand, and laughed under his breath. “I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say.”

“I don’t think you have to say anything, Steve. I think you did exactly what she needed you to do. You listened.”

“I hope so,” he said. “That doctor-” and his voice turned hard. Cold. “-that doctor didn’t seem to think I knew jack-shit about what she needs. He acted like I was...like I couldn’t _do_ anything for her. Like I couldn’t take care of her.”

“I’m sure he didn’t think that.”

“Yes, he did,” Steve said. “‘We’ll just keep her another night, ‘cause _we_ can take care of her.’ That’s what he said, Tony.” He laughed again, but this time it was harsh and uneven, nothing like his sweet, natural laugh. “He said they were _‘protective’_ of her. Like they had to protect her from stuff that would hurt her. _People_ who would hurt her. Like _me_.”

He looked up, his eyes blazing, and Tony drew in a sharp breath and closed his teeth over his lip. A flutter of fear and deep, hidden want shivered through him, but he shoved it down, back into whatever hole it had come from. “That-” he began, then let out a breath, wiped his mouth, and tried again. “That’s not what he meant, Steve.”

“Bullshit. He knew what he was saying.”

Tony put his foot on the floor and leaned forward, grasping Steve’s wrist in one tight fist. “Yeah, well, I know _you_. Way better than some fucking doctor. And _I_ know you are exactly what your mom needs right now.”

Steve sighed, the fire in his eyes going out. He leaned heavily back against the seat. He didn’t move Tony’s hand from his, but he didn’t turn his hand to take it either. Tony had almost thought he would. Almost wished he would. “Am I?” he asked. “I don’t know, Tony. It’s not like I’ve been here. Right? I mean, this is the first time I’ve been home--really _been_ home--in almost ten years.”

He smiled. It was dark, sad, nostalgic. It made Tony’s heart beat faster in spite of himself. In spite of the fact that he’d felt himself throwing up quick but impenetrable walls around his heart the second he saw Steve standing at the reception desk in the office. In spite of the way a litany of words was running through his head on a loop right this very moment. Words like _No_ , and _Pepper,_ and _Morgan,_ and _No, No, No, NONONONONO_. Those words that meant everything, but still didn’t seem like quite enough when it came to Steve Rogers who carried his own words with him. Words that Tony blocked out before they could find their way over, or around, or through his hastily-constructed heart-walls.

“Christ, think about that,” Steve mused, and his voice was quiet, filled with shadowy awe. “Ten years, Tony. Where the fuck did that go? Huh?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither. It seems like last week you and me were sitting in Dr. Banner’s science class. Going out to that clearing behind the school.” His smile warmed a few degrees. “Remember that?”

“I remember.”

Steve glanced back down into his cup. Tony watched his thumb move around the rim. “I was pretty messed up until you came to school there,” Steve said without looking up. “I’d never had any friends. All I had was my mom.”

Tony squeezed his wrist, rubbed the inner curve of his arm, trying to comfort him, but at the same time, waiting. Waiting for something, some unknown thing to come out of the charged air between them. He was afraid and exhilarated at the same time. He’d had that feeling before around Steve. But only around Steve. No one else had ever had the power to make him feel that way. He could count on three fingers the people who had ever had much power over him at all, and the fact that two of them shared his DNA--his father and his daughter--made the power Steve wielded seem all the more potent. All the more dangerous. All the more seductive.

And he was wielding it now, even though he didn’t know it. Even though he had no idea of what he was doing to Tony. How his every word was tearing him open from the inside out. Tearing him open, and making him bleed not only from want and desire, but also from compassion. 

“I left her,” Steve whispered, and raised a shaking hand abruptly to his eyes. “I left her, Tony. How could I do that? She did everything for me. Gave me everything. And I just...I just left her.” He drew in a breath. “I didn’t even _think_ about her. About how it would affect her. What it would do to her. I just left her.” 

“No. Hey,” Tony said, and even as he stood up and slipped into the seat beside Steve, even as he put his arm around his quivering shoulders and held him tight against his side, he felt those walls he’d made around his heart crumble, leaving him defenseless.

 _I want him_ , he thought desperately. _Still. God. Fuck. Ten years, and I still want him. That can’t happen. Anthony Edward Stark, That. Can’t. Happen._

“What’s wrong with me?” Steve asked hollowly, leaning into Tony’s side, and Tony’s hand rose automatically to stroke his hair, thrilling at the texture between his fingers. 

“Nothing,” Tony answered. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you. And your mom would be so pissed at you right now if she heard you asking me that.” Steve let out a tiny, watery laugh, and Tony shook him a little. “Yeah, that’s right. _Super_ -pissed. And you’d better be careful, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

Steve laughed again. “Tattle-tale.”

“Yup. That’s me,” Tony agreed, running his fingers through Steve’s hair in a continuous, soothing motion. And it was working. Steve’s shoulders eased, his breath lost that hitch that meant he was either crying, or trying not to. Just because it was having the opposite effect on Tony himself didn’t really matter. That he was growing more tense--more fearful--the want in him battling with his sense of right and wrong. His sense of commitment and loyalty. No. None of that mattered.

 _You promised_ him _forever._

Tony shoved that thought away fast.

“She was proud of you, Steve,” he said, and Steve lifted his head to look at him. “Yeah. She was. I mean, she missed you too. A lot. But she was so fucking proud of you. She still is.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, frowning in concentration, trying--longing--to be convinced. “Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

He let out a breath, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, easy smile. “Thanks.”

 _Forever_.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just the messenger.”

“Well, thanks for the message then, messenger.”

_NO._

Hair soft and silky beneath his fingertips. 

“You’re welcome.”

Steve looked at him from the corner of his eye. His head was lowered, that little smile still on his lips. “How do you do that?” he asked quietly.

“Do what?” 

“Make me feel better? You always make me feel better,” he answered, and Tony’s heart cracked a little. Just a little. Because this couldn’t happen. It couldn’t. He was married now. He had a wife back in California. A daughter. A _life_ there. And so what if he and Pepper had never had a great passion between them? So what if they were more like best friends than true lovers? It didn’t matter. They had a marriage. A good, solid, comfortable marriage. That was what he needed. That was what he wanted to give to Morgan. A homelife uncorrupted. Untainted. That was what he had promised her the second he saw her. That was what he would provide for her. And his feelings for Steve--his desire, and want, and passion--well, that could just stay in his memories. Stay locked away in his heart, a secret thing that he only took out and examined only so very rarely. Like fine crystal used only for the most special occasions.

He shrugged. Like it meant nothing. Like he wasn’t falling apart. “It’s easy.”

And it was. God. It was so easy. _Too_ fucking easy.

“Easy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Steve nodded and grasped Tony’s hand in his for one brief, exhilarating, breathtaking second before letting go. “Well,” he said, still smiling gently, “thanks for doing it. I was...pretty lost for a minute there. Thanks for bringing me back.”

 _Always. Anytime._ Every _time._

“Sure.”

Steve ran a quick hand through his hair, over his eyes, scrubbed across his cheek. Tony could see the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth. “I should go, I guess,” he said. “Mom and Sam wanted me to go home and rest for a little while. I wasn’t going to, but maybe I will.”

Tony slid out of the booth and stood up. He took some money out of his wallet and tossed it onto the table. “Come on,” he said, trying to hide the fact that even though Steve seemed ready to part again, he wasn’t. Not yet. He needed a little more time. He needed another few minutes. A few more hours, if he could get them. He couldn’t have the days, the months, the years, the decades he wanted so badly, but if he could have a few more minutes, he’d take them. He’d take all he could get. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No. You’ve done so much for me already-”

“This isn’t for _you_ , Rogers,” he scoffed. “It’s for your mom. And Sam. And _me_.” He cocked an eyebrow. “‘Cause I don’t want to be the one to catch hell if they find out I let you get on a bus and fall asleep and end up in New Hampshire, or something.”

Steve slid to the edge of the seat and gazed up at Tony’s face. He shook his head slowly, seriously from side to side. “I don’t think the city buses go to New Hampshire, Tony.”

Tony restrained himself from reaching out and petting that ridiculously sexy beard that covered his cheek. “Well, now’s not the time to find out for sure, Steven.”

“I can call a cab.”

Tony groaned extravagantly. “Jee- _sus_ , Steve, why do you have to make everything so hard? Let’s just go. Okay? Please? Pretty please? You’re making _me_ tired now.”

Steve stood up, laughing in that way he had. That way that made the whole world a little bit warmer. A little bit brighter. “Okay, okay. Have it your way.”

_My way? No. Not that. Not ever again._

“Come on.”

They went out and got into Tony’s car. It wasn’t the same car, but it felt the same having Steve sitting beside him. So much the same, that he almost reached out and took his hand. He didn’t. He caught himself at the last second. But, it felt strange _not_ holding Steve’s hand while he drove with him beside him. Steve didn’t seem to notice. He just sat looking out the window the way he’d always done, his head against the head-rest. Looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Tony could just see the way his lips looked, soft and relaxed, his eyes drifting closed, then opening again. Tony watched him as he drove, his hands guiding the car automatically, as if they knew the way all on their own. 

They did. He’d driven here enough, both when they were together back when they were kids, and then alone in the years between then and now. He did it a lot. Every time he came to the city. He never stopped, but he drove by, gazing up at the fourth-floor window, thinking back to old times. He knew it was masochistic. He knew. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing it.

And now.

Now.

Tony pulled into an available space, and turned the car off. Steve turned his head, not moving it from the head-rest. He smiled at him. Soft. Sweet. Everything. Tony smiled back. “Let’s get you inside,” he said, and Steve just nodded.

They climbed the stairs together. Tony blocked the memory of the last time they’d done this from his mind. It had been a long time ago. A _long_ time. A lot had happened since then. A lot had changed. But not Mrs. Perkins’s door. That was the same. Her doormat still outside. _Welcome Friends_. Tony shook his head, surprised and pleased.

“Still here,” he mused.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other in the dim stairwell, neither moving, just looking. 

“Did she ever get married again?” Tony asked. Just to lighten the mood. To try and lessen the heat that lay simmering between them. “Make it an even six?”

Steve shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. Tony could see him blush even in the dim stairwell. “No. She, um. She said she was done with dick.”

Tony snorted. “She did not.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, she did.” He ducked his head, smiling at his shoes, that blush still there. “Mom laughed so hard she choked on her Diet Coke.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he said, then gave Steve a playful shove toward the stairs. “Move, Rogers. I’m trying not to lose my shit, but if she opens the door, it’ll never happen.”

Steve grinned, looking like a kid again, the way he’d looked when he was seventeen and Tony had jumped up onto his back and had him carry him up the rest of the stairs. They’d said ‘I love you’ that day. But they’d fought first. Fought over Howard. 

_Fucking Howard Stark._

That sobered him up.

“Come on, Steve,” Tony said.

Steve’s smile faded. His light faded. “Tony?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, and nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

They climbed the rest of the stairs, and Steve opened the door at the top with a twist of his key. Tony followed him through the door, helplessly remembering every other time. The first time. The last time. All the times in between. His eyes scanned the room, and just like Steve’s had done, they fell on Morgan’s photograph immediately. He brushed past Steve and went to it, making a punched out little sound in the back of his throat. He raised a finger and traced it along the frame. 

“She hung it up,” he said. “I didn’t think she’d hang it up.”

Steve closed the door then leaned against it. “Is that not okay?” he asked stiffly. 

Tony glanced back at him, then looked back at the photograph hanging on the wall. Hanging there with the pictures of Steve, and Sam, and Steve’s father. Hanging there with the pictures of the Rogers family. And, god, it looked _right_ hanging there. It felt _right_.

“No,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s more than okay. I just...didn’t think she’d do it.”

“She was real happy you sent it. It meant a lot to her. _Means_ a lot to her.”

Tony nodded. “Means a lot to me, too.”

Behind him, Steve sighed, deep and heavy. Tony turned to look at him. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his head against the door. There were lines between his brows. Frown-lines. _Those_ hadn’t been there when he was seventeen. His face had been smooth, unlined, open and sweet. Tony remembered thinking he’d lost his innocence somewhere along the way. Lost it in the desert. 

“How do _you_ feel about it?” Tony asked, taking a step closer.

Steve shook his head, those frown-lines cutting deeper. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Tony.”

“Yes, it does,” Tony said, and his voice sounded sharp in his own ears. Much sharper than he had ever wanted. Steve shifted, but didn’t move from where he was pressed against the door. Watching him. Just watching with those blue eyes. “Sorry,” Tony muttered. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

He raised one shoulder in a shrug, his face unchanging.

Tony came closer. “Talk to me.”

Steve sighed again and knocked his head back against the door a couple of times. “What do you want me to say? Mom was happy.” He nodded past Tony at the photograph on the wall. “Your little girl? She looks happy. That means _you’re_ probably happy.” He shrugged again. “That’s what I care about. That’s all that matters to me.”

Tony couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached out and put his hands on Steve’s sides, under his jacket, grasping handfuls of his shirt. Steve was still taller--that hadn’t changed either--and Tony tilted his head up to look into his eyes. “But what about you?” he asked, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “I want you to be happy too.”

Steve stood rigid, swallowed, turned his eyes upward. “That’s not me, Tony,” he said. “It’ll never be me. You and Mom. That...That’s what’s important.”

“Don’t do that,” Tony said. He put his forehead against Steve’s hard chest, fingers digging into his sides. “You can’t put that on me. Not if we’re not- It’s not fair.”

“I can’t help it,” Steve said quietly, then laughed without much humor. “I know how pathetic it is. Trust me, Tony. Nobody knows better than me that I should let go. Do you think I haven’t tried? I-” 

He stopped talking and slumped against the door. Tony followed him, keeping his hold on his waist, not lifting his head from Steve’s chest. Steve raised one hand tentatively and put it on Tony’s hip. “Okay,” he breathed, as if admitting a great sin. “That’s a lie. I haven’t tried. I haven’t tried at all.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. It was everything he wanted to hear. Everything he had always needed. Everything he’d always wanted, and nothing he could ever have, so he didn’t say anything. He just came closer, slipped his arms tighter around Steve’s waist, burrowed his head deeper into his chest, silent, just holding him, just listening.

“I will, though, Tony, okay?” Steve said, and now he put his own arms around Tony and held him tight. So, so tight. “I will. I promise. I’ll let go. I’ll try and stop loving you. Just not tonight. Okay? Okay, Tony? Can I have one more night? One more night where I can go to sleep thinking there might be a chance for us?”

Tony clung to him and nodded. His tears were hot, dark, and so very painful. “Yeah, baby,” he said, ignoring how much it sounded like a sob. “Yeah. One more night. One more night for both of us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “Okay.”

They held each other for a while, standing pressed up against the door, Tony shuddering within the safety of Steve’s arms. When he finally got himself under control, he un-self-consciously wiped his face on the front of Steve’s shirt. Steve huffed out a soft laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Tony sniffed. “No snot. I promise.”

Steve squeezed him then let him go. “I wouldn’t care, if it was _your_ snot.”

“You’re gross.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Tony said, and raised a hand to--finally--touch that beard on Steve’s face. He ran a hand over it, smooth and sure, then touched his bottom lip with his thumb. Steve closed his eyes. He only opened them when Tony brushed his fingers over his neck, down his arm, then slipped his hand into Steve’s. 

“So,” Tony sighed. “What do we do about this?” 

“Tonight?” Steve said. “Nothing. I’ll work it out tomorrow. Just like I said I’d do.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony said. His fingers kneaded Steve’s restlessly, clenching and un-clenching, running over his knuckles. “I meant, what do we do _tonight_? Do I leave? Do I stay? What do I do?”

Steve drew in a breath and tightened his own grip on Tony’s hand. “I want you to stay,” he said carefully. “I just don’t know how to ask without it sounding like I’m asking you to cheat on your wife.”

Tony put his free hand high up on Steve’s chest. He dipped his finger into the notch at the base of his throat. “Try ‘Tony, will you stay?’” he said. “It would probably work.”

“Tony,” he began, then cleared his throat. His eyes were downcast, almost shy. “Tony, will you stay?”

Tony nodded immediately. “Yes. God. Yes.”

“I won’t touch you,” Steve said. “Not...not like that. I-” He ran a hand through his hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaky with exhaustion and emotion. “I’m just so tired. It’s been such a long week. I-I just want to be close to you. I just want to-” he touched Tony’s shoulder, “I just want to listen to you breathe. Okay? Is that okay?”

Tony put his forehead against Steve’s chest again. “That’s perfect. Perfect. Take me to bed, Steve. Just-Just take me to bed.”

Steve took him to bed.

He led him by the hand into the bedroom the way he had always done. He watched Tony strip off his jacket and shirt. Watched him sit on the edge of the bed and kick his shoes off. Watched as he slid easily back until his head was on the pillow, then raised his hand to Steve, opening it and closing it a few times in a silent request--command?--for him to join him. And Steve did. He didn’t bother with his clothes. He just took Tony’s hand and climbed onto the bed after him. He laid down, tucking his head up under Tony’s chin, and held him. 

Held him all night long.

\---

He got to the hospital at seven.

The hallway outside his mother’s room was empty, so he slipped through the door. She was still asleep, but her cheeks seemed pink, her breathing easy. He went to her and kissed her. She stirred, but didn’t wake. In the chair by the bed, Sam rubbed his eyes. He opened them and saw Steve.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking at Sarah to make sure she was still asleep. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Then _I’m_ not sorry.”

Steve put his hand on Sarah’s leg. “How is she?”

“She’s fine. Slept mostly.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

_At the door. Sun just peeking over the horizon-line, hidden by the buildings, but giving off its light and warmth all the same. Tony in his arms one more time. Soft and pliant. Hair still damp from the shower. Wearing one of Steve’s t-shirts under his suit jacket._

_“I hate this part.”_

_“Me too.”_

_“Why does it always have to come down to_ this part _?”_

_“You know why. We both do.”_

_“‘Cause life sucks just that much?”_

_“No. ‘Cause I was stupid, and you’re too nice to tell me to just go to hell when we see each other.”_

_“Not funny, Rogers.”_

_“Not trying to be, Stark.”_

_Silence._

_“Gotta go.”_

_“‘Kay.”_

_“Tell your mom bye for me?”_

_“‘Kay.”_

_Not moving. Just holding on. Warm. Soft. Perfect._

_“Really gotta go.”_

_“‘Kay."_

_Lips on his neck. Just once. Then his breath. Just for a moment._

_“Tony?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“I love you. So much. So much it hurts.”_

_Arms tightening. Lips on his neck again. Just one more time._

_“I love you, too.”_

_“I know. That’s why it hurts.”_

_Sigh._

_“Take care, Steve.”_

_“You too, Tony.”_

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not distracted. I’m...clear. I think. For the first time in a long time. I think I’m clear.”

Sam frowned. He sat forward in his chair and grasped Steve’s hand. “What are you talking about?”

Steve glanced at his mother sleeping peacefully on the bed beside him. He thought about how much he loved her. How much she loved him. How much she wanted for him. How much he owed her. He tried not to think about Tony, but he couldn’t quite do it. 

_I want you to be happy too._

He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I think I’m ready, Sam,” he said.

Sam’s frown deepened. “Ready?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Ready.” He tightened his grip on Sam’s hand. “Do you still have Pietro’s number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two or three more chapters to go! Thank you all so much for the love you guys have shown for this story. I wasn't sure how it would be received, but you have all just made every chapter better by giving me your own perspectives on them, so seriously--thank you! I love you all!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years...just glimpses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support for this story! Your comments and enthusiasm about it just astounds me. THANK YOU!

TWENTY-EIGHT 

He never thought he’d see him again. That was the thing.

Why would he? It wasn’t exactly like they moved in the same circles. Steve was a soldier. A military-man through and through. He lived on the base ninety-percent of the time, and when he wasn’t there, yelling at recruits for untucked shirts and wrinkled sheets, he was either at his mother’s house or Pietro’s. 

_Him_ , though...well, Steve actually had no fucking clue what he did. All he knew was that he had been positive he would never see him again.

But here he was.

Steve was sitting in the hospital cafeteria. Sarah’s chemo treatments took a long time. Six hours. Thank god they were almost done. Just two more, and then they were through. Steve knew they would never be completely in the clear, but Dr. Mickelsen was extremely optimistic, and that made Sarah--and, by extension, Steve--feel optimistic too.

Steve had been to all of them but two, and Sam had taken her to those. She always said she could go alone, but Steve would just laugh into the phone and ask what time he should be there in the morning. She always huffed a little, but Steve knew she was glad. Glad for the support, and glad for the company--even if it was from the waiting room outside. Sometimes though, when there was an empty seat, the nurses would let him come into the treatment room. When that happened, he’d curl up in one of the recliners next to his mom while she sat for her treatment. Sometimes he’d read to her quietly until she fell asleep. Sometimes, they’d watch the television bolted to the wall. Sometimes, he would fall asleep too, his hand clasped loosely in hers, knees drawn up until he was secured in the lap of the chair, sleeping deeply, dreaming things he couldn’t remember when he woke up. Or just blocked out. That could be.

On days like today when he couldn’t go into the treatment room with her, he’d sit out in the waiting room with his book and his headphones. He had almost given up the smoking--for Sarah--but around the three-hour mark, he would start to get a little antsy, and head down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and a muffin. He’d tried the almond poppyseed, but couldn’t get over the strange, oily feel of it in his mouth, so he went to the blueberry. That one was a little better, although he thought they were playing pretty fast and loose with the word “blueberry”. Sure, there were blue pieces in the muffin, but he was pretty fucking sure they weren’t blueberries. He still ate it though. Fake blueberries were better than none at all.

That’s what he was doing now. Sitting in the cafeteria, reading his book, drinking his coffee--which actually wasn’t bad, considering it was a hospital--and eating his muffin. He had scanned the room and the other diners when he came in, clocking the exits and sizing people up, before settling in the corner, his back to the walls like he normally did. He didn’t think about that. It just happened anywhere he went. It drove Pietro crazy. He always got a little irritated when Steve insisted on a corner when they went out to dinner, or the back row in a movie theater, but Steve couldn’t help it. He didn’t like the thought of someone coming up behind him. Pietro said he was being “overly cautious”. Steve thought he might be right, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. He just didn’t like leaving his six open like that.

Steve broke a piece off of his muffin and popped it into his mouth. The “blueberry” gritted against his teeth when he chewed. He washed it down with a sip of coffee, and turned the page in the book. It was one of his mother’s books. An old copy of _Flowers in the Attic_. She’d been reading it herself this morning, and Steve picked it up after she’d fallen asleep and kind of fell down the rabbit hole. It was a little weird--very fucking weird--but he was enjoying it, turning pages with a rapidity that didn’t happen much with the books he usually read, when a voice above him said, “Hello, Steven.”

He looked up fast. He knew the voice. The second it was in his ears, he knew the voice, and all of his memories and thoughts and feelings about that voice came crashing down onto him. 

_That will get him a good job waiting tables someday._

_Not your masculinity...your mediocrity._

_I think you’ll change your mind, Steven. I do._

And he had been right. Steve _had_ changed his mind. Just like he had said he would.

Howard Fucking Stark.

He looked older, but not old. His hair had been mostly gray the last time Steve had seen him at graduation, and it was almost white now, but it didn’t make him look “old”. More distinguished, if anything. His eyes were the same too. The color of Tony’s, but a bit cooler, a bit harder. He was thinner, though. He’d always been thin, but he was verging on skinny now. His clothing fit well, but Steve could see he’d changed even so.

He still exuded authority, though. Still gave off that potent energy. Those vibrations that said power, and wealth, and control.

Steve still saw it. Still felt it. Still responded to it.

He straightened in his seat, his shoulders going back, his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Stark,” he said.

Howard nodded a bit. He was holding his own cup of coffee, and he gestured to the table with it. “May I join you?”

Steve glanced around the room. There were several people here, but plenty of empty tables. Plenty of places for him to sit without coming in contact with Steve. In fact, why was he even here? Why did he even come over here? Steve frowned, and asked. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I’ve seen you here a few times,” he said, and Steve arched an eyebrow, “and I thought it would be...interesting to talk to you.”

Steve felt a flash of anger at the word, but immediately following that, coolness flowed over him. He welcomed it. Sometimes he hated it. Especially when it happened when he was talking to his mom or Pietro, but this time, he embraced it whole-heartedly, because it meant Steve Rogers was no longer in charge. Sergeant Rogers was.

He straightened further, his spine stiffening, his chin tilting up. “I’m not a novelty act, Mr. Stark,” Sergeant Rogers said. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

Steve saw something flit over Howard’s face, something he couldn’t quite name, but he didn’t look angry. “Perhaps I could entertain you,” he said, and Steve frowned deeper. 

“No, sir. That’s not necessary.”

Howard nodded, smiling a little. “Not necessary, son, no,” he said, “but could I join you anyway? Just for a moment? I really would like to talk to you.”

He thought about it for a minute, then nodded toward the empty chair. _What the fuck?_ he thought. What would it hurt really, to sit here with him? Listen to whatever it was he had to say? In fact, he couldn’t deny that he felt a little curious. What could Howard Stark possibly have to say to him that he had not already said?

Howard sat his coffee down and pulled the chair out. He slid into it, and arranged his legs, the crease in his pants, the lapel of his jacket. It all happened unconsciously, Steve was sure, and it was strange to see. He saw Tony in some of those movements. In the way Howard moved his hands, the way he held his body, and Steve was almost awed by it. Awed...and repelled. And that was _not_ something he wanted to feel in connection with Tony. Even if he was trying hard to forget him, he didn’t want to feel repelled by him. He never wanted to feel that. Ever.

“You’re here with your mother,” Howard said, once he was settled to his liking. 

Steve nodded. “Yes.”

“What type was it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He wasn’t sure if he minded or not, but he thought he might as well answer truthfully. “Ovarian,” Steve answered, sipping his coffee. 

“And her prognosis?”

“It’s good. They did surgery six months ago, and she’s almost done with chemo.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. It is,” Steve said. He broke off another piece of his muffin, but he didn’t put it into his mouth. He just crumbled it onto the napkin it was sitting on. “Why are you here? I've never seen you in the treatment room," Steve said, but now that they were up close, Steve could see that hollow look around his eyes. Could see now, that his hair might not technically be his own. Steve wasn't _completely_ sure about that one--if anyone could afford a high-end custom toupée, it was Howard Stark--but no one came to a cancer-treatment center unless they had to.

Howard tipped his head in a way achingly like Tony. “No. I have a private room.” He gestured vaguely at his midsection. “Colon,” he said. “They caught it during an exam. Surgery, now chemotherapy.” He smiled, just a tilt of his lip. “It seems as though your mother and I have something in common after all.”

“You have nothing in common with her,” Steve said without thinking, and that look showed up on Howard’s face again. If Steve didn’t know better, he would think it was almost sad.

“That’s probably true,” he agreed, taking a sip from his own cup. “ _You’re_ here with her. You’ve been here with her every time, haven’t you?”

“I had to miss two of them,” Steve said, looking solidly into his eyes. “Sam came with her to those.”

Howard nodded, like it was just as he had expected. “Yes,” he said. “She’s very lucky to have you boys to be with her.”

Steve sat silently, just looking at him, then leaned abruptly forward over his clasped hands.”Mr. Stark,” he said, and his voice was both soft and cold, “we’re here because we want to be. We wouldn’t let her come alone. Not even if she wanted to. Luck has _nothing_ to do with it.”

Howard looked down at his own hands, then nodded again. “You really are right, Steven. She and I have nothing in common.”

Steve sighed and sat back. He didn’t feel guilty--never guilty, not after everything this man had said and done--but he felt _something_. Something moving in his chest. Something he didn’t want to admit to. “Tony, um” he said quietly, "he never comes with you?”

Howard shook his head. “He doesn’t know.”

“You haven’t told him?”

“Tony and I don’t speak about personal things,” Howard said. “In fact, we hardly speak at all. We haven’t in years.”

Steve bit his lip. Sergeant Rogers had retreated back into his place inside Steve’s head, leaving Steve to deal with this himself. _I don’t feel bad for him_ , Steve thought, in almost a panic. _I don’t. I do not._ “Oh. That’s...too bad.”

The corner of Howard’s mouth lifted into a small smile, and Steve could see now how tired he looked. 

_I don’t feel bad for him!_

“It’s not too bad, Steven,” Howard said. “It’s Newton’s Third Law. That means-”

“‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction’,” Steve recited, and in spite of the pity he was feeling in his heart for this man, he couldn’t help the thrill of satisfaction he also felt when Howard’s eyes widened minutely. “Yeah,” Steve said, as if agreeing. “I know what it means.”

Howard kept his smile. “Then you understand what I’m talking about.”

“What _are_ you talking about, Mr. Stark?”

“Consequences,” Howard said plainly. “Consequences for one’s actions.” 

Steve nodded and looked down at his hands. He thought of Tony at the lake house, kneeling in front of him, his heart in his eyes, tears on his cheeks. Thought of him locked in his arms, thought of him lying on his bed, all of the choices they’d made, all of the good-byes they’d suffered through. “Yeah,” he said. “There are always consequences. Aren’t there, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, Steven,” Howard said. “There are.”

They sat looking at each other in the cafeteria, cold cups of coffee and the ruins of Steve’s blueberry muffin between them. There were the ruins of other things between them too. Steve could feel them. Almost see them. If he closed his eyes and thought about it, he _did_ see them. Whether he wanted to or not.

“I have to get back to my mom,” he said, suddenly.

Howard nodded. “Of course, you should,” he said, then tipped his head again. “Is there anything I can do for her? I could have my doctors examine her.”

Steve shook his head, feeling cold. “She’s happy with the doctors she has.”

“And financially? I could-”

“I’ve got it taken care of, Mr. Stark.”

Howard nodded, and this time the look on his face was something else entirely. Steve could have sworn it looked like pride. “I’m sure you do, Steven.”

Steve stood up and gathered up his muffin. He wrapped it up in the napkin and tossed it into the trash. He tossed the dregs of his coffee in after it. He didn’t want it anymore. As he was walking away, Howard said his name. Steve turned back.

“Do _you_ still speak to Tony?” he asked.

“No, Mr. Stark.”

“Hm,” Howard mused. “I believe I may have underestimated you, Steven.”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. "You were right about me. It’s Tony you underestimated.” He started away, back toward the door, back toward his mother, and his career, and Pietro, back to the life he was trying very hard to build. The life without Tony Stark. But before he got there, he spoke one last time. “You should call him,” he said. “Tell him what’s going on with you. He’d want to hear. Want to help.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Howard said. “Perhaps not realistic, but nice.”

Steve shrugged. “You never know until you try, Mr. Stark,” he said. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

TWENTY-NINE 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Steve shook his head. Not saying no, just shaking his head. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Bucky. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so, anyway.” He shrugged and smiled. “I’d better be, ‘cause I’m doing it.”

“Why now?”

“I’ve been in a long time, Buck,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “You know? A long time. I...I just think it’s time I got out. That’s all.”

Bucky stared at him, his face set, eyes hard and questioning. They were sitting in his apartment. Natasha was at work, and Bucky and Steve were here, _not_ drinking. There was a baseball game playing on tv, but they had it turned down low while they talked about work, and Nat, and how things were going with Pietro, and now Bucky was giving him a dark look filled with quiet distress. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“Nothin’,” he said, scratching absently at the stump of his arm. “I’m just wondering what brought this on. You’ve never talked about getting out before.”

Steve shrugged, a little self-consciously. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I guess I’m just starting to think about...my future, or whatever.” He laughed bitterly under his breath. “ _Again_.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “And, anyway, it’s what Pietro wants, and-”

“Oh, _fuck_ , no,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t do that. Don’t you even dare talk like that. You don’t make a decision like this based on what somebody else wants.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve said. “People do it all the time. Me and him are together. We’ve been together for almost a year.” He clenched his hands together, trying to keep his whirling mind from spinning completely out of control. He’d thought about this. For the past week, he’d thought of nothing but this. Ever since he and Pietro had fought about it. _Talked_ about it. Fought, talked, whatever. It all came down to the same thing--Pietro didn’t want to deal with him being in the army anymore. 

“It’s too hard,” he’d said. “You come here maybe twice a month, we go to the movies, we fuck, and you leave again. It’s like you’re married to the army, and I’m just your side-piece. That’s not enough for me, Steve.”

“Ten years, Pietro,” Steve said. And his hands were clenched tight then too. Tight, tight, tight. “That has been my life for ten years. Do you want me to just throw that away? Is that what you want?”

“No, I don’t want you to throw it away, but I don’t want it to be the only thing you think about, either,” Pietro said, his voice rising. “Sometimes it feels like all you think about are the last ten years.”

“What do you want me to think about?”

“The _next_ ten years, Steve! The ten that has me in it. If that’s what you want, anyway. Is that what you want?”

Then Steve was on his feet, grasping Pietro’s shoulders, telling him, of course, I want you in it, of course, I do, you’re all I want, you’re the most important thing to me, I'll do anything, anything, and then kissing him, kissing him to try and show him that he was telling the truth, that everything he said was real, and not just something he _wanted_ to be real, not just something he told _himself_ every time they were together and didn’t think about at all when they weren’t. And later, when they were in bed, and Steve was holding him down by the neck and fucking him into the mattress just the way Pietro liked, and Pietro was saying his name over and over, Steve tried so hard to convince himself--again--that the next ten years were as important as the last ten. That he had something to look forward to that equaled his reasons for looking back. Telling himself that the reality of Pietro was as important to him as the memory of Tony.

“I have to do this,” Steve said now. “If I want to keep Pietro, I have to.”

Bucky leaned forward and grasped Steve’s clasped hands in the one he had left. “Stevie,” he said earnestly, “if you really wanna quit, you know I’ll support you. Me and Nat and Sam, all of us, but you need to think about it first. Don’t just do this based on what your boyfriend wants. That’s the wrong reason.”

Steve turned his hand and clasped Bucky’s. He smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest that he used to only have with his mother, and now he had with Sam, and Bucky, and Nat too. He didn’t count Tony. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he still did want to. More than he should. 

“I joined for the wrong reason,” he said, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Maybe quitting for the wrong reason is the right thing.”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between Steve’s, trying to read the truth in them. Finally, he barked out short laughter. “Your reasoning is so fucked up.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

THIRTY 

“I really want you to come with.”

“Steve. I told you. I have to work.”

Steve nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck. He was wearing the same suit he’d worn to Bucky and Nat’s wedding. It still fit him perfectly. He had bought a new tie to go with it, though. He didn’t think the blue was appropriate. Not for this.

“I know,” he said. “I know you have to work, but...don’t you think you should come with me? This is hard on Mom. She needs us.”

Pietro sighed and came to where Steve stood by the door, keys in his hand. “Honey,” he said in a slow, firm voice, “I can’t. I’m sorry, but your mom will be okay. She was just a neighbor.”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. “She wasn’t just a neighbor, Pietro, I told you. She was...a friend. I’ve known her my whole life. She was like a grandmother to me.”

Pietro kissed his mouth. “I’ll come over later, okay? We can sit with your mom for a while then, but I have to meet this deadline. It’s important.”

_Tony would-_

He shoved that thought away. Fast.

Steve nodded. “Okay,” he said, and smiled when Pietro kissed him again. “But really come over when you’re done. This is important too.”

Pietro grabbed his bag and headed for the door. “I will, honey. I promise. Love you.”

“Me too.”

Pietro faltered for half a second when he said that, then continued on out the door. 

Steve didn’t notice.

THIRTY-ONE 

Steve threw the last couple of t-shirts into the box on top of his text-books and taped it closed. It was hot in here. Really hot. It made sense, he supposed--it _was_ August, after all--but that didn’t make it any easier to take. He thought, on some level, that the heat shouldn’t bother him anymore. Not after so long in the desert, but it did. In fact, since coming back to America, he thought he suffered more from the heat than he ever had before, even while he lived in Afghanistan.

It sucked.

So did this.

“Is that the last of it?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

Pietro glanced at the little table on Steve’s side of the bed. Well, the side that _used_ to be Steve’s, anyway. He flicked his hand at the frames sitting there, then folded his arms again. “Take the photos.”

“Don’t you want-”

“No. I don’t.”

Steve came closer and put his hand on Pietro’s hip. Pietro didn’t push him away, but he didn’t soften either. “I never wanted to hurt you,” Steve whispered. “That’s the last thing I wanted.”

Pietro shook his head. “No, Steve. _I’m_ the last thing you wanted.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

Steve bit his lip. He had no right to get angry. No right to feel hurt. Pietro had been a dream. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. Exactly what he should have. And Steve _had_ wanted him. He had wanted so much to want him more than anyone else.

“Don’t say I didn’t want you. I did want you.”

Pietro’s eyes turned colder. “But not enough. There was always something else, wasn’t there, Steve? Always _someone_ else.”

“No,” he insisted, and slipped his arm around Pietro’s waist and pulled him closer. “There wasn’t anyone else. There wasn’t. I told you. I would never do that to you.”

“But you _did_ do that to me,” he said. His voice was softer, though, his eyes not as cold. “Maybe not physically, but there was always someone else you were thinking about.” He turned fully into Steve and slipped his hand up his arm to cup his cheek. “You never let me in. Not all the way. You never let your guard down enough to love me.”

Steve let out a breath. He was right. Steve knew he was right. It didn’t matter how much he tried, he could never allow Pietro full access to his inner heart. It was too full already. Too full of memories. Too full of pain. Too full of the love he didn’t want to feel and couldn’t forget. And too full of the knowledge of just how pitiful that was. How pitiful _he_ was. He’d told Tony he knew it was pathetic. He still knew.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m so sorry, Pietro. I wanted to love you. I tried to love you. I tried so fucking hard.”

Pietro shook his head in defeat. “I know you did,” he sighed, and ran his thumb over Steve’s high cheekbone. “But, honey, that’s the problem. Don’t you get that? I can’t be with someone who has to _try_ to love me.”

Steve curled his arm tighter around him. Pietro resisted for a second, then gave in and held him. Steve put his head on his shoulder. “I know,” he whispered. “I know. You deserve better than that.”

Pietro ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “Yes, I do. Maybe you do too.”

Steve tightened his grip. “Maybe part of it was just timing. Maybe if we’d met later. Or earlier. If I’d already left the army-”

Pietro laughed a little. “You’re still in the army, honey.”

“The National Guard isn’t the army.”

“It’s still the military.”

Steve smiled guiltily into his shoulder. “I couldn’t give it up completely. I like it.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to quit. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you were right. It was time.”

Pietro pulled back and looked at him, his eyes delving into Steve’s. Steve wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it--or not--because he sighed again and pressed his lips firmly against Steve’s, holding him in place with one hand on his cheek. It was not the same kind of kiss they’d had in the past. This one was different. It was filled with sadness, and maybe a little relief. It tasted like good-bye. 

“Do you need help with the boxes?” Pietro asked, breaking out of Steve’s embrace.

Steve shook his head. “No. I can get ‘em.”

“Alright.”

Steve went back to the bed and picked up his last box, then put it down again and picked up one of the photographs. It was of the two of them, Pietro looking at Steve, Steve looking at the camera, smiling, the sun in his eyes, his arm around Pietro’s shoulders. 

“Leave that one,” Pietro said.

Steve turned back, smiling a little. “Really?”

“Yes. I guess I don’t want to forget you completely.”

Steve put it back on the table, tucked the other two away in his box, and carried it back to the doorway. When he got there he kissed Pietro one more time. “I don’t want to forget you either.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

He left.

THIRTY-TWO 

He sat by the pool, his feet dangling down into the water. He’d come out here a few hours ago, when the sun was still up, and the afternoon was hot around him. He had sat on one of the lounge chairs for a while. He sat the folder of papers--all filled out and signed--on the table at his side, and anchored them with a bottle of gin. It was unopened. He left it unopened. He didn’t drink much under ordinary circumstances, and he didn’t want to start now. He’d seen how that spiralled. He didn’t want to spiral. He was staying afloat. Keeping it together. What else did people say in situations like this? Whatever it was, he was that. He was doing that.

When the sun started to go down, and the heat started to leach away, he’d grabbed the sweater he’d chucked on the back of a chair last week, and yanked it on, then went and sat by the pool and stuck his feet in. It was warm. Heated to a perfect eighty-one degrees. Warm enough to keep the muscles limber and loose, but cool enough to not fuck up the pH levels too much and encourage algae growth. Nobody wanted to encourage algae. That was gross.

He’d been sitting here for a while now. Just sitting. Not thinking. Not dwelling on the fact that the folder filled with papers over there signalled the end of his marriage. Not dwelling on the fact that all of his shit was sitting boxed up in the front foyer waiting for tomorrow morning and the slew of movers who were coming to truck it away to a storage unit. Not dwelling on the fact that his daughter wasn’t here with him right now, and that was good, because if she had been, he would have had to put on a happy face to _prove_ that he wasn’t dwelling, instead of just sitting here fucking _moping_ like he was doing right now.

And as much as he adored her and missed her, he kind of wanted to mope for a while. He thought he’d earned a good mope.

_It’s just not working, Tony. We both know it._

That’s what Pepper had said. No fighting. No screaming, no yelling, no accusations of...anything. Because there hadn’t been anything to accuse each other of. It just wasn’t working. That’s all. They still loved each other. They still _liked_ each other. It just wasn’t working. Not like it should for two people who are married to each other. It just wasn’t working.

And, if he was completely honest with himself, it never had.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and kicked his foot. The water splashed, then rippled. He wondered if there was a metaphor there. Probably. He hated metaphors.

“How’s it going, kiddo?”

Tony’s head snapped up at that voice, then fell back, eyes rolling. Great. Of course. Just keep piling straws on, universe. I can take it. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Your friend--Carol, is it?--let me in,” he said, coming across the patio toward Tony. He was wearing a suit. Of course he was. Even on a warm California night, Howard Stark would wear a three-piece suit. He’d probably wear one when he was dancing with the devil or playing poker with the angels in heaven. 

“If she let you in, she’s not really my friend,” Tony said. But there was no venom in it. He was too tired for venom. Too sad.

Howard chuckled a little under his breath, and Tony frowned. That was different. “That’s pretty much what your other friend said,'' he said, and toed his shoes off while Tony watched, incredulous. Fascinated. “But she let me in anyway.” He sat down on the edge of the pool next to Tony and rolled the legs of his pants up with an efficiency Tony could hardly believe. It looked like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was second nature. “He was shooting me some pretty sharp daggers on my way out here.” He laughed again and stuck his feet in the pool.

“Uhh,” Tony mumbled, staring at his father. At least, he _thought_ it was his father. It looked like him, but it sure as hell didn’t act like him. 

“I think he would have said something else, but Carol stopped him.”

“Uhh.”

Howard chuckled again. _Chuckled_. Like...like...Tony had no fucking clue anymore. “I’m certain he’s watching us right now,” Howard went on. “Making sure I’m being nice.”

Tony couldn’t take it anymore. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, and even though he wanted it to come out a furious shout, in actuality, it just sounded bewildered.

Howard sighed and moved his feet in the water, the shape of them like pale starfish. “I came to see how you are,” he said quietly. “I heard you and Pepper were splitting up. I’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head wearily. He wanted to be angry. He _was_ angry. He could feel it simmering inside his head, and he knew if this was any other day, any other time, he’d be jumping to his feet right now, yelling at him, asking him how _dare_ he? But he was too tired. His heart too sore. “You’re unbelievable, do you know that?” he asked. “This whole ‘dear-old-dad’ routine you’ve got going on here? It’s bullshit. Right? Why would you think I’d be at all interested in that? Carol’s a secret softie, but Rhodey’s the one who’s got it right here, Howard. We’ve got nothing to say to each other. You should just go. Okay? Just go.”

Howard listened, his head cocked, watching Tony speak. Tony hated that he could see himself in that gesture...except part of him, even now, didn’t hate it at all. Because part of him _wanted_ this. As fucked up as it was, part of him was almost weeping for joy that Howard--his _dad_ \--was here right now. The part that would always be a six-year-old kid, waking up scared from a nightmare, wanting to go and climb up into his daddy’s bed and lie beside him all night, where he would feel protected. Safe. That part of him loved this. That part of him wanted to believe this was real.

When Tony fell silent, Howard nodded his head. “I understand why you feel that way, kiddo,” he said. “Christ knows, you’re entitled to it. And I will go.” He put his hand into his pocket and brought something out. Something small. A little coin-shaped thing. He held it clasped in his hand. “I’d like to give you something first, though. If that’s alright?”

“What?” Howard flipped the coin up in the air, and Tony caught it deftly, automatically snatching it out of the air. He looked at it. Small. Bronze. It said “To Thine Ownself Be True” on it. He frowned in concentration. He knew what it was. He’d seen one before, but he asked anyway. “What is this?”

“That’s my one-year coin,” Howard said. “I’ve got a few more hanging around now, but that’s the one that means the most to me.” He smiled a strange smile, dark yet hopeful. “Well, they _all_ mean the most to me, but that one felt like the biggest one. The one I forced myself to get. During that first year, I’d tell myself, ‘Just get to one year. It doesn’t matter what happens after that. Just get to one year’.” He looked down at the coin sitting in Tony’s open palm, then back up at his face. “I don’t feel that way anymore,” he said. 

“What way?” Tony asked shakily.

“That it doesn’t matter what happens after the first year. It still matters. It all matters.”

Tony closed his hand over the coin. It felt warm. Heavy. He tightened his grip on it. “I...I don’t really know what to say right now.”

Howard shook his head and smiled a little. “You don’t have to say anything, kiddo. I’m the one who needs to say things. A while back someone told me to call you. To talk to you. And he was right. Everything he said was right, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer you. Nothing that would mean enough.” He nodded at the coin in Tony’s hand. “That’s when I decided to do that. I should have given it to you when I got it, but I was still afraid it wasn’t enough. It’s still not enough. I know that. I know it doesn’t make up for everything, Tony--for _anything_ \--but I wanted to show you I’m trying. Especially now.”

“Why especially now?” Tony asked, and his voice sounded slow in his own ears. Slow, almost drugged with the things Howard was saying. With the things he, himself, was feeling.

“Especially now because I’m not sure what your plans are now. With the divorce, I wasn’t sure if you were planning on staying here? Or going to London, or…?” He trailed off, looking questioningly at Tony. 

Tony shook his head. “I thought about it,” he said in his new slow voice. “London or Berlin. But they’re too far away. Staying here isn’t really an option right now, but I can’t be that far away from Morgan either. We’re doing joint-custody, and when she’s with Pepper, I need her to know I can be with her within a few hours if she needs me. And when she’s with me, that she can be with her mom if she needs _her_. That’s the most important thing.”

“Well,” Howard said and raised his eyebrows. “There’s always the New York office.” He nudged Tony with his elbow. “It would be nice to have Stark Industries’ brightest mind just an elevator ride away.”

Tony smiled a little. He couldn’t help it. He was keeping his guard up, but Carol wasn’t the only secret softie under this roof tonight. “Nah. Stark Industries’ brightest mind has her heart set on staying here, raising our daughter and running _this_ branch. But maybe _I_ could…on a trial basis…”

“You already have an office. All your things are there waiting for you.”

“I _do_ miss New York pizza.” He gestured toward the L.A. skyline. “It’s not the same here.”

“Maybe we could get some one day?” Howard said. “Have a talk?”

Tony sighed. He knew enough about Howard to know it wasn’t going to be that easy. There were a lot of hurt feelings still. _A lot_. One poolside chat and a sobriety coin didn’t erase thirty years of pain and neglect. Not even close. 

But maybe it was a start.

And he _did_ miss that pizza.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good,” Howard said, and put his hand briefly on the back of Tony’s neck. “We’ve missed you back home, son. Everybody’s missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're getting there now, I promise! Next chapter will probably be up next week. Thank you for reading, I really do just love you all so much!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rainy afternoons aren't ALL bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is short, and I'm not going to say it's NOT cheesy, but I don't care. Here we go with the start of something!

THIRTY-TWO...AND CHANGE 

It had been raining for a week. Cold, gray, _monotonous_ rain. He remembered it from before, but for some reason he couldn’t remember it lasting this long. Maybe it was just because he was so acclimated to sunny Los Angeles now. Maybe because it had been a long winter already, and now the spring was being a bitch too. Whatever the reason, he found himself feeling irritated and sulky. And that was rubbing off on Morgan, who was usually the sweetest kid in the universe.

“Morgan, will you _please_ pick your Legos up?” he said, trying hard to keep his voice under control. He’d stepped on one of them already, the little peg of death drilling into his bare foot like a rusty nail, and while he technically knew he could put some shoes on, he didn’t think he should have to do that. That wasn’t the way they did things on lazy Saturdays in _Casa Stark_. Saturdays were for bare feet and AC/DC t-shirts. If he wanted to put shoes on, he might as well do it up completely Howard-style and go down to the office and work, and that sure as fuck wasn’t happening.

“Daddy, _play_ with me!” Morgan said, stomping her foot. “You said you’d play with me."

“I did play with you. We’ve been playing for three hours.”

“But we’re not done. You said you’d be Batman _all day_. It’s not all day yet, Daddy. The sun is still up!”

He looked out the window at the gray sky. It may have lightened a little, but his mood didn’t. “How can you tell?” he muttered, and threw himself onto the couch. He knew he was being childish. He _knew_. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d been in New York for six months. Morgan came at Christmas and was staying through the rest of the school year. That was what they’d decided, he and Pepper. School years with Tony in New York, summers with Pep in L.A. Every other weekend and alternating holidays--Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter--and video calls whenever Morgan wanted. It seemed like the best situation, and Tony was ecstatic that he was getting the better end of the deal since he got her for more months out of the year.

He just wished the weather would cooperate.

“Daddy?” Morgan said, climbing up onto the couch and curling herself up against his chest. 

He kissed the top of her sweet-smelling hair and brushed it out of her eyes with absent affection. “Yeah, peanut?”

“Are you sad?”

Tony laughed a little. “Nah,” he said. Even though...he _had_ been feeling a little sad since coming back here. A little lonely. “How ‘bout you? Are you sad?”

“Nah.”

He laughed again and hugged her. Christ, she was too much like him for comfort. He loved it. “What do you say we go for a walk, huh?”

“In the rain?”

“Yeah. In the rain. We’ll splash puddles, and get coffee, and-”

“I want hot chocolate.”

“‘Kay. Hot chocolate for you, coffee for me.”

“Can we go see the dogs?”

Tony laughed. He wasn’t sure that he loved dogs, but Morgan did, so he’d endure. For her, he’d endure. “I’m not sure how many will be out there, but yeah. We can go see.”

She looked up at him then, her dark eyes serious and solemn, a little crease to her brow, and for some reason, he thought of Steve. Those little frown lines he had between his brows. At least the ones that had been there the last time Tony had seen him...but that had been forever ago now. A lifetime. There was no point in thinking about that now. Last he’d heard about Steve, he was living with some guy over in Queens. Nat had tried to bring him up a few times since Tony had moved back, but he shut her down quick. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear how happy and in love Steve was with some other guy. Some other _younger_ guy. Some other younger guy who probably didn’t have a failed marriage and threads of gray showing up in his beard now. Gray. Christ. Thanks a fuckload, Howard. Tony would be lucky if he wasn’t completely gray by the time he was forty. 

He pushed all that aside, and tapped his finger on the creases on her brow until she giggled and they smoothed out. “What’s up, peanut?” he said. 

“Are you sure you’re not sad?” she asked, and Tony sighed, smiling a little. Sadly. 

“I’m sure, kiddo,” he said. “Not sad. Just grumpy about the rain.” He stood up and swung her onto her feet. “So let’s go face it head-on, ‘kay? No more moping for us, right?”

“Right,” she said smartly, and he grinned like a kid.

“Pick up your Legos first.”

She frowned, but she did it. He knew she would. She was the best kid in the universe, after all.

\---

He was glad he’d talked about splashing in puddles, because the entire world outside the door was one giant puddle. He kind of wished he’d put on some boots instead of sneakers, but at the same time, he was glad he hadn’t worn anything leather and expensive. He knew he was a little vain, but there was no point in ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes for the sake of fashion. He made sure Morgan was wearing her rain boots though. Classic yellow. Clear umbrella so she could look up at the shape of the raindrops falling all around her. Raincoat with buckles--rose red. Dark locks of hair just peeking out from the hood. He may be biased, but he was sure not only was she the best kid in the universe, she was also the prettiest.

They splashed puddles all the way to the dog park, avoiding the sheets of water thrown up by the passing cars sometimes by the narrowest margins. The sky _was_ beginning to lighten, the sun sending an occasional slash of light onto the ground, and as they slipped through the gate, Morgan chased after each one she saw, while Tony plopped down on a bench. It was wet, but he didn’t care. Hell, _he_ was wet. He didn't think he could get much wetter.

“Stay close, peanut,” he said, and she yelled back a loud, “‘Kay!” then went back to chasing sunbeams.

There weren’t many dogs here, and the ones who were here, were being hurried through their afternoon walks by harried-looking owners who didn’t even let them off their leashes. Tony smiled a little, watching them. He understood. If he hadn’t been going so stir-crazy in his own apartment, he wouldn’t be out here either.

He _did_ see one dog off the leash. It was kind of a reddish-brown and white, not too big, but filled with an exuberant energy. It was romping around, snarfing through the underbrush, and looking like it was having as good a time as Morgan was. Tony watched it, tensing up just a bit when it saw Morgan and started bounding toward her. She saw it and a large, sunny grin broke out on her face. 

“Here, boy,” she shouted.

Tony got to his feet and walked--walked, not ran--toward her. He didn’t think it looked particularly bitey, but you never knew. Looks could be deceiving. “Morgan,” he said, and at the same time, he heard another voice call, “Dodge. _Down_.”

The dog dropped immediately to its stomach, but its haunches stayed in the air, tail wagging vigorously, eyes still on Morgan. It barked once, but stayed where it was even though it so obviously wanted to tackle her to the ground, and by the looks of it, Morgan wanted that to. 

She had stopped when Tony said her name, but she was dancing from foot to foot. “Daddy,” she whined looking up at him, but his eyes were on the guy coming toward them. 

He was still tall. Wearing a wool navy overcoat that hit him mid-thigh and just skimmed a body that was still well-muscled, but maybe a little thinner. The hair that used to be golden blonde was a little darker now, a little longer than Tony had ever seen it, touching the collar of his coat. He’d kept the beard, and even now, even in this cold, dreary, rainy afternoon, Tony longed to touch it. Longed to run his fingers over it.

He stopped next to the dog, his eyes--crystalline blue, shocked, anxious, hopeful--meeting Tony’s dark browns.

And neither spoke.

It didn’t seem like there were enough words for whatever there was between them. Or maybe there were too many. In either case, neither said anything. They just looked at each other. 

However, neither Morgan nor the dog had those issues. She grabbed Tony’s hand and tugged on it. “Daddy,” she said again. “I want to pet the dog. Can I pet the dog?”

It--Dodge? Is that what he’d called it?--whined low in its throat and barked again, it’s tail whirling like a pinwheel in big, excited swoops. But it stayed put. Not moving from its stomach where it had landed when Steve-- _Steve_ \--had ordered it down.

Tony blinked and shook his shoulders a bit, visibly trying to get himself under some kind of control. He could hear/feel his heart pounding in his ears. Was that the sign of a heart attack? He thought it might be. It was the sign of _something_ anyway. Something to do with his heart. 

“ _Daddy_.”

“Um,” he said, and tore his eyes away from Steve’s with a Herculean effort. He squeezed his daughter’s hand, using it to bring himself back to the here and now. It worked. Just enough. “Remember what you’re supposed to do before petting a dog?” he asked, and she smiled up at him, brighter than the sun that was still playing teasing games with the clouds.

She stepped forward, letting go of Tony’s hand and looking shyly up at Steve. “Can-” she began, then paused, and started again. “ _May_ I pet your dog?”

Steve licked his lips in a nervous gesture. “Uh, sure, um…” he looked at Tony, asking silently if this was okay.

“Morgan,” he encouraged softly, nodding.

Steve’s mouth softened. He nodded. “Sure, Morgan,” he said, and squatted down to ruffle the dog’s fur. It’s tongue lolled out and it grinned at him in that way happy dogs had. Morgan knelt beside him and he immediately swiped her face with his tongue. “Dodger,” Steve admonished fondly, but Morgan just giggled and put all her energy into petting the dog with both hands. When Dodger licked her face again, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

“Uh, hey, uh...” Tony said. Even though the dog was obviously overtly friendly, he still felt nervous.

Steve glanced up, a little smile on his mouth. “It’s okay,” he said. “He won’t hurt her. He likes...people.”

Tony felt the tension run out of his shoulders immediately, telling himself that it wasn’t _just_ because Steve said it was okay. Even though he knew that was exactly the reason. They may not have seen each other for five years, but Tony still trusted him implicitly. Would still put his own--and apparently his daughter’s--safety in his hands with absolutely no compunctions. 

He nodded. “I guess that’s good,” he said. “It looks like _people_ like him, too.”

Steve stood up, and brushed his hands on his jeans. Not like it mattered. His jeans were as wet as Dodger’s fur had been. Dodger looked up at him, dancing on his paws, and Steve jerked his head. “Go on,” he said, and Dodger barked once and ran away, Morgan following, laughing and calling him.

They stood side-by-side, watching them, silence once again falling between them. It wasn’t quite as awkward as it had been, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Tony could see Steve casting tiny side-long looks his way, and suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Luckily, he knew exactly what he had to say.

“You’re doing it again.”

Steve hung his head. He let out a breath, and Tony could see the way his mouth had bowed into a secret smile. “Doing what?” he asked.

Tony grasped the arm of his coat and shook it a little. “ _Ignoring me_.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not ignoring you, Tony,” he said, and Tony hated to admit just how much he _loved_ that. Loved that Steve remembered his line.

“You’d better not be,” Tony said, and tugged on his coat. “Come here, Steve. Let’s just do this, ‘kay? I don’t want to waste time being weird and awkward.”

But Steve was already turning to him, already slipping his arms around Tony’s middle. “Me neither,” he said, and dipped his head onto Tony’s shoulder, holding him tight.

Tony knew Steve was with someone. Knew this was just a greeting of two old friends, nothing more, but he could not help the way his hand rose and first ran through his hair, then fisted tightly into it, remembering the way it felt with a nostalgic pang in his gut.

“It’s been a long time,” Steve said into Tony’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed, swallowing past the familiar blockage in his throat. “Yeah, it has.”

Steve pulled away, ducking his head and swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “What are you doin’ here? Don’t tell me you’re visiting your dad?”

“No,” Tony said. “I’m, you know, _back_. I live here now.”

“Seriously?” Steve asked, and Tony could not even begin to decipher the look on his face or tone of his voice.

Tony nodded. “Yup.” He flicked his hand over to where Morgan and Dodger were now _both_ snarfing through the underbrush, Morgan on her hands and knees, Dodger right beside her. “Me and my shadow.”

Steve gave him a distracted look, then looked at Morgan, almost as if he was just barely seeing her. “She’s so big,” he said, gently. “She’s beautiful.”

An ember in his stomach flared to brilliant, glowing life. “Yeah,” Tony said. “Lucky for her, she got her mother’s looks.”

Steve shook his head. “No. That’s all you, Tony.”

“I’ll take some of the credit,” he relented, “but she really is mostly Pepper.”

Steve took a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Tony felt himself tense up again. He knew that gesture. He knew that Steve only did that when he was putting up walls and getting ready to guard them. With his life, if necessary. 

He wanted to reach out to him, wanted to touch him and reassure him, but that wasn’t his place anymore. Steve didn’t owe him anything. He belonged to someone else now.

Steve dug his toe into the ground, looking down. “How does she like being in New York?” he asked, his voice deceptively light.

Tony glanced over at his daughter. “She’s never lived here before. Kind of a new experience. There’s a learning-curve, you know, but we’re getting there.”

“She’ll be okay,” Steve said. “New York’s not such a bad place. And she’s got you guys, so…”

Tony shrugged, not quite knowing what to make of the _you guys_. Unless he meant Rhodey and Carol. Or maybe Nat and Bucky? “Well, I mean, it’s kind of a learning-curve for me too,” he said. “The parenting-thing is a little harder when you’re doing it alone.”

Steve lifted his head fast, frowning at Tony in confusion. “Alone?” he asked, then smiled a little. “Stark Industries must be a helluva busy place, if they don’t even let your wife come home long enough to help with homework and bedtime.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Wait, what-” he began, then stopped. Morgan was skipping toward them, Dodger nipping playfully at her heels. She skidded to a stop next to Tony and grasped his hand, giving it a happy tug. Dodger moved to Steve’s side. He sat down and gazed up at him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. He was still grinning. Steve put his hand on his head.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, peanut?” he said, glancing down at her, then back up at Steve, frowning.

“Can we go get hot chocolate now?”

“Um-”

“We gotta go anyway,” Steve said, digging a leash out of his pocket and clipping it to Dodger’s collar. 

“Steve-”

Steve shook his head, smiling the fakest smile Tony had ever seen. Well, almost ever. The one he’d flashed him at Nat and Bucky’s wedding still held that top honor. “We’ve kept you too long. It was nice seeing you though.” He reached out and touched Tony’s arm with a light touch. Just the lightest, softest touch. “You should go see Mom,” he said. “She’d love to see you.” He glanced at Morgan. She smiled up at him. “Meet your little girl. Your...wife.” He nodded. “Yeah. She’d like that.”

Then he started to walk away.

And Tony felt like he was being hit by a train. Over and over again. Every car slamming into his body and brain, and every one saying, _He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. HE DOESN’T KNOW!_

“ _Steven Rogers_!”

He was aware that he had said it rather loudly--okay, _shouted_ it. A flock of pigeons may have taken startled flight--but he didn’t care. He _did_ care about the equally startled look on Morgan’s face, the wide, shocked eyes, the mouth not knowing whether to laugh or cry. But Steve had stopped in his tracks, had turned back toward him, and for the second time that day, Tony was struck by an eerie similarity in expression shared by his daughter and the man he used to love.

_Used to._

Yeah. That was a good one.

Tony pointed at Steve. “Don’t. Move.” he said sternly, then squatted next to Morgan. “Sorry, peanut,” he said, bopping her nose gently with his finger. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her expression cleared. _Hope it's that easy with the other one_ , he thought fleetingly. “It’s okay, Daddy.”

“Can you stay right here for just a second? I gotta go tell Steve something, okay?”

“Then can we get hot chocolate?”

“All you can drink.”

“‘Kay.”

He gave her a brusque kiss, then stood up and jogged to where Steve was standing. His expression had changed too, devolving into bewildered concentration. Tony grabbed his coat, high up on his arm. There wasn’t much extra fabric. The bicep beneath it was distractingly large.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, and Tony had no fucking _clue_ how to answer that question, because he was divorced. He was living here. Steve was living here. They were in the same city. At the same time. There wasn’t an ocean between them. There wasn’t an overbearing father between them either. At least, not one that mattered, because they were adults, and who gave a fuck what Howard would think about this anymore, anyway? 

He knew there was still someone between them, and that _sucked_ , but Tony had to at least tell him. Had to let him know. He had to, just in case. Just in case there was even the slightest chance…

“ _Ex_ -wife,” he said, looking up into Steve’s blue--Christ, how could they still be so fucking _blue_?--eyes. “She’s my ex-wife, Steve. _Ex._ I’m--we’re--divorced.”

And just like that, the bewilderment was gone from Steve’s eyes. The concentration remained, however. In fact, it sharpened. Intensified. Tony saw it happen. Saw the way a cold shroud fell over him, and for a second--the barest of seconds--he was afraid. For that second, it didn’t feel like it was Steve standing in front of him, at all. It felt like someone else. Someone powerful, someone shrewd. 

Someone dangerous.

Beside them, Dodger shifted from foot to foot. He looked up at Steve and whined, his brown eyes almost seeming to look worried. And when that happened, Steve’s cleared. That sharp edge to his gaze softened, and it was Steve again. Just Steve. He reached down and patted Dodger’s flank. “It’s okay, Dodge,” he whispered. “I’m okay.” 

Tony glanced back at Morgan and she gave him a little wave. He waved back.

Steve followed Tony’s gaze, then squatted down and ruffled Dodger’s fur. “Go get Morgan, buddy, ‘kay?” he said. “Just for a second?”

He dropped the dog’s leash, and Dodger nudged his cheek with his muzzle before trotting off toward Morgan. She brightened considerably when she saw him coming, and knelt to hug him again. Tony smiled. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t like dogs--or maybe he was scared of them...whatever--but he didn’t mind this one. And Morgan was over the moon for him. He could see that. He was _glad_ about that. Extremely glad.

Steve stood back up. His fingers went to his temples and he rubbed them, thumb on one side, middle finger on the other. His hands were big enough to do that comfortably. They’d always been big. Strong. “When?” he asked, he eyes closed, and Tony picked up the thread of the conversation as if they’d never dropped it in the first place.

“Almost a year ago now.”

Steve sighed harshly. 

“I know you’re with somebody,” Tony said. His hand had fallen away from Steve’s arm when he’d bent to pet his dog, but he took it again now. Not just his coat this time, though. He grasped the bulk of his bicep and held it firmly, feeling the heat of it even through the wool coat he was wearing. “I know we can’t-”

But Steve was shaking his head. “No. I’m not.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “ _What_?”

“I’m not with anybody.”

Tony’s hand tightened on his arm. “Yeah, you are,” he insisted. “Sam-Sam _told_ me. A while ago. He said you were with somebody. Some _guy._ Some _younger guy_ -”

“He wasn’t _that_ young.”

“Younger than me!” Tony burst out, but his heart was starting to feel very light. _Very_ light. Almost helium-balloon light. That was part of the reason he kept such a tight grip on Steve’s arm. He was afraid if he didn’t, he would float away. Just float away.

Steve ducked his head, smiling a little, a pink blush coloring his cheeks. And oh fuck, Tony had missed that so much. “Maybe that’s part of the reason it didn’t work out,” he said. “Maybe I was too old for him.”

Tony tilted his head. “Too bad you don’t know anybody closer to your own age.”

Steve drew in a deep breath and let it slowly out. Then again. His eyes bored into Tony’s, and Tony let him look. Let him look just as long as he wanted to. As long as he needed to. He’d let him look for the next fifty years--the next hundred--as long as it meant he was standing here with him. As long as it meant they were together.

“We have to take this slow, Tony,” he said finally, and Tony felt the ground beneath him disappear. Yup. His heart _was_ a helium balloon. 

“Slow,” he agreed, nodding. Although, honestly, he would have agreed to literally anything Steve said just then.

“ _Super_ slow. Slower than-” he ran a distracted hand through his hair, but his eyes never left Tony’s. They stayed put. Drinking him in, filling to the brim with him. “Slower than anything. Than everything.”

“It’s been fifteen years, Steve,” he said. “I think _slow_ is kind of our thing.”

“Tony, I mean it. Things have changed. We’re not the same people we were before. It-it might not be the way we remember it. Just ‘cause it worked when we were kids, doesn’t mean it’s going to work now.” He shifted nervously, one hand lifting a little. Toward Morgan. “We have to be careful. I don’t wanna hurt...anybody. Again.”

And the fact that he was thinking about Morgan, that he was _worried_ about her just made Tony’s heart even lighter. “I know, Steve. Slow. We’ll go slow. Okay? _Glacial_.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Glacial.”

They fell silent, but this was nothing like the silence that had fallen between them earlier. This one crackled with energy. With potential. It was like the silence they had shared so long ago, sitting at a table in a diner, gazing at each other over sodas and declarations not made, but definitely hinted at. Back when they’d been young, fresh, and everything between them was still so new.

“Come get hot chocolate with us,” Tony said suddenly.

“Tony,” he warned. “ _Glacial_?”

“Even the glaciers move a little, Steve.” He squeezed his arm, chanced a step closer. “Right?”

Steve let out another breath. Then nodded. “Right.”

Tony closed his eyes in brief, brilliant, blazing relief. “Right.” He squeezed Steve’s arm one more time, then instead of simply letting go, he trailed his hand down the length of his arm, past his elbow, the tantalizing curve of his inner arm, then down to his fingers. He clasped them briefly, then let his hand fall away. “Come on,” he said.

As they made their way back to Morgan and Dodger, the sun broke through the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I warned you about the cheese-factor! XD Oh well. I like cheese.  
> Also, I never know about putting real things in fics, but I needed a dog, and someone just happens to own the cutest dog ever, so there's that now. Welcome to my world, Dodger!
> 
> I honestly don't know how many more chapters. Every time I think "Two more to go!" something else happens. But, two more (???) to go!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date and a talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Enjoy a little bit of not-quite-as-angsty-as-usual!

ALMOST THIRTY-THREE 

He was nervous. 

God, why was he _nervous_?

He’d helped his mother through a battle with cancer. He’d stood as best man for his friend and comrade’s wedding--then stood up again with his best friend when it was _his_ turn to take the plunge. He’d fought his own battle with alcohol. He’d been to _war_ for fuck’s sake. Sure, he may not have come out of that one unscathed, but he was doing okay. Mostly.

So, why the hell was he nervous now?

It had been a week since he’d seen Tony again. A week since they’d gotten hot chocolate. A week since they’d decided to try again. Steve still was not one hundred percent sure that it had happened at all. If he didn’t have a napkin with Tony’s phone number written on it, he would have been one hundred percent positive that it _hadn’t_ happened. But he did. Just a cheap, thin little napkin from the coffee stand they stopped at. Worth maybe a third of a penny in actual cash-value, but to Steve, it was worth more than anything he owned. Except Dodger. Not that he really _owned_ Dodger. They were just friends.

But that napkin now…

Tony had been appalled that he didn’t have a cell phone.

“How do you _function_?” he groaned, pawing a napkin out of the metallic holder sitting on the coffee stand’s little counter area.

“People without cell phones still function just fine, Tony,” Steve said, watching while Tony scrawled his number down on the napkin, then glanced down at Morgan. “Do _you_ have a cell phone?” he asked seriously.

She shook her head over her cup, dark curls bouncing.

“How do you function?”

Morgan shrugged--a very Tony-like shrug--and licked a bit of whipped cream off her thumb. “Good.”

“See?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow at Tony. “She functions just fine too.”

“She’s six years old, Steve.” 

“You said _everyone_ ,” Steve said. “‘Everyone should have a cell phone.’ You didn’t put a date-stamp on it. You said everyone.”

Tony huffed at him and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Next Christmas, cell phones all around, okay?”

Steve blushed, ducking his head, loving the way Tony said _next Christmas_ like it was already a foregone conclusion that they would be in a position to worry about things like Christmas.

Tony held out the napkin. “Here,” he said. “I expect you to use this.” Steve reached for it, and when he did, their fingers brushed together. Steve felt a jolt of electricity and drew in a breath as Tony hooked his index finger around Steve’s. “I mean it,” Tony said in a softer tone. “I know you don’t like promises. But I need this one.”

“I’ll call.”

Tony shook his head. “Never give an inch, do you, Steve?”

“Tony-”

“No,” Tony said, holding up his free hand, but keeping his finger twined with Steve’s. “It’s okay. Just call, okay? Please?”

Steve nodded. “I will.”

And he did. He may not have promised, but he _did_ call. It was a little strange, but he called. And they made plans to meet on Saturday. Steve freaked out a little bit when Tony asked--in an unabashedly excited tone--what he had in mind. He’d thought in the back of his head that Tony would make the plans. 

“Um,” he said, his eyes darting frantically around his apartment, searching for something, _anything_ … “How ‘bout the aquarium?” he asked, spying a coffee cup sitting in the dish drainer. They’d given it to him when he’d signed his membership form last year. 

“Aquarium?”

“Yeah,” he said, but now he was nervous. Tony sounded a little doubtful. “They have this thing where you can pet the stingrays.” He bit his lip and put his hand on Dodger’s head, scritching him behind the ear, drawing a little comfort from that simple touch. “Does...does Morgan like stingrays?”

“I’m sure she’ll love them,” Tony said, and Steve was pretty sure he was just placating him, but at the moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting through this phone call. Then the rest of the week. Then Saturday and this ridiculous idea of going to the aquarium. Tony could choose where to go next time. If there _was_ a next time. If Tony and Morgan didn’t just decide to leave him at the proverbial altar. He wouldn’t blame them if they did. He sucked.

But he was here. He might suck, but he was here. Waiting. Watching for Tony, watching for Morgan, wishing to god he had brought Dodger, because even if Tony _did_ walk out on him, if he had Dodger, he still wouldn’t be completely alone.

At least it wasn’t raining.

He glanced at his watch, saw it was only 3:03, and tried to relax. They’d be here. They’d be here when they got here, and not a minute before. His mom said that. He kind of wished she was here too. And yeah, he knew that was weird, wishing his mother was here on this pseudo-date, but it would be nice. Nice to have the company. If Tony didn’t show.

“Hey. Steve!”

Tony.

And the world was immediately a better place.

“Hey,” Steve said, feeling a large, stupid grin on his face and not caring one bit. 

“Hey.”

He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a gray henley. And glasses. And when he got close enough, Steve could smell that same old cologne, the same one that had either kept him awake nights thinking about it while lying on his bunk in Afghanistan, or sent him off to sweet dreams while he lay in Pietro’s arms. The same one he’d thought about for years. Remembered. _Wished for_. And now here it was again. Finally. He breathed deeply as Tony stopped in front of him, smiled up at him, and it was all he could do to not just wrap him up in his arms right then and there.

“It’s good to see you,” Tony said. “Right, Morgan?” he added, giving their joined hands a little shake. She clutched him tighter and took a step behind him, looking shyly up at Steve. “Sorry,” Tony said quietly. “She’s a little shy today.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “I’m a little shy too.”

“Where’s Dodger?” she asked, and Tony bit his lip, trying to hide his smile, eyes on Steve.

Steve bent down. “I, uh, I left him with my mom,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone. “I thought he might get a little jealous if he saw me petting stingrays instead of him.” Tony snorted. Steve ignored him. Or tried to, anyway. “You won’t tell him, will you?” he asked.

Morgan smiled, and shook her head. Steve nodded, and held his hand out. “Shake on it?” She giggled, and put her tiny hand into his large one. Steve shook it up and down twice. When he tried to let go, she held on, holding it as tightly as she held Tony’s. 

Steve let out a breath. He’d never experienced anything like it before. The feeling of a child’s hand in his, holding on, unafraid. He looked at their clasped hands, then up at Tony. He’d never experienced anything like that either. The look in Tony’s eye. A mixture of happiness, certainty, and heat. It made him feel weak in the knees. 

“Let’s go in, huh?” he said, and the fact that his voice came out steady steadied _him_.

“Lead the way,” Tony said. 

Steve readjusted Morgan’s grip on his hand--she didn’t let go, but allowed him to twist his wrist just enough to hold it comfortably--and led them inside.

Morgan got over any shyness she felt as soon as they stepped into the main aquarium building and saw the giant replica of a pirate ship. 

“Look, Daddy!” she exclaimed, and pulled him forward while Steve paid the entrance fee, smiling at how excited she was. 

They wandered around, the three of them. Sometimes, Morgan walked between them, holding their hands, sometimes running ahead to stare into the tanks of giant river fish and dwarf caimans. When she did that, Steve and Tony automatically stepped closer together. They didn’t talk much, didn’t really touch, but they spent more time looking at each other than the fish.

They passed through the different exhibits, stopping longest in a clear underwater tunnel where sea turtles, clownfish, and sharks sailed through the water all around them. Morgan stood with her face planted against the glass while Steve and Tony sat on a bench in the middle of the tunnel. 

“How’d you know about this place?” Tony whispered. Everyone in the tunnel spoke very quietly, if they spoke at all, almost as if they were in a church. 

Steve shrugged. “Me and Bucky come here sometimes. He brought me as soon as I came home from Afghanistan. I was-” he ran a hand through his hair. “I was in a bad place. It was quiet here. Soothing.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “It made me feel better,” he said. “Still does.”

Tony pressed his mouth against Steve’s shoulder. It didn’t last long, just a heart-stopping, thrilling moment, but Steve felt his head get very clear. It always got clearer when he came here, but this, this crystal-blue, sharp-eyed clarity was new. In it, he knew this was the right decision. Being here with Tony and Morgan. He knew this was real.

“I’m glad you brought us,” Tony said softly.

Steve brushed his fingers against Tony’s, barely touching him, but feeling it throughout his entire body. “Me too.”

They looked at each other in the shifting blue dim. That clarity in his head making everything about Tony stand out. The dark of his eyes. The length of his lashes. The heat of his body so close to Steve’s own. He liked the way Tony had pushed the sleeves of his shirt casually up, exposing his forearms. Liked the look of the smooth skin that covered the inner curve. He wanted to kiss it. Run his tongue along the blue vein, that protruded from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. He wanted it. Wanted _him_. So very badly. He could see that same want in Tony’s eyes, and he knew-- _knew_ , without a shadow of a doubt--if Morgan had not been with them, if Steve hadn’t promised stingrays, they would have left right that moment. Left and gone to either Tony’s apartment or his own, stripping clothing off, leaving a trail of shirts and shoes and jeans on the way to the bedroom. He could almost hear Tony gasping as Steve opened him up. Almost feel him clenching around him as he slid inside him, the tight heat like a dream made real.

But.

“Morgan,” Tony said, his voice a throaty whisper. “Let’s go see those stingrays, okay? It’s getting late.”

“I want to watch the sharks, Daddy.”

Tony licked his lips, eyes on Steve. He looked flustered, his face pink. He ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll come watch them again. Right, Steve?”

Steve nodded, “Sure.”

“Okay,” Morgan agreed, and grabbed Steve’s hand. Steve’s. Not Tony’s. “Come on, Steve.”

He smiled at that. He couldn’t help it. “Okay.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, getting to his feet. “I see how it is now.” He nudged Steve in the shoulder. Right where his lips had been only a few minutes before. “You’d better be planning on making this up to me later.”

“We’ll see,” Steve said.

Morgan tugged on his hand. “Come _on_ , Steve!”

Steve gave Tony a happy little shrug, then grabbed his hand. “You heard her,” he said. “Come _on_.”

And oh god, holding his hand felt good. Natural, honest, and _good_.

He didn’t let go as they went to pet the stingrays. Neither of them let go.

\---

They went to dinner at a little pizza place near the aquarium, then outside, Tony buckled Morgan into the backseat of his car. He closed the door, and looked up at Steve. “I don’t want to take you home yet,” he said simply.

“Me neither,” Steve said. 

“Come home with us.”

He nodded, almost without thinking. “Okay.”

Tony put his hand on Steve’s arm, pressing into him just the slightest bit. “Good.”

“I’ll take a cab home later.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said softly, and squeezed his arm.

Steve ducked his head, feeling a warm blush on his cheek, and the heat from Tony’s hand on his arm. That want was still there. That need. But. 

But.

“I’ll take a cab,” he repeated. “Later."

Tony hummed a little, trailing his hand up Steve’s arm. “We’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “We’ll see.”

Tony opened the car door. “Get in.”

“‘Kay.”

He got in, and Tony drove them home, guiding the car with his usual confidence. Morgan chattered for a while in the back seat, bouncing the stuffed shark Steve had bought for her in the gift shop along the back of Steve’s seat, bopping him in the head with it every once in a while. The closer they got to home though, the quieter she got, and as Tony pulled into the parking garage under his building, Steve glanced back and saw she was asleep. Her head was cocked to the side, dark hair in her eyes, the shark hugged tightly in her arms.

“Wanna do the honors?” Tony asked, gesturing to her, and Steve nodded. 

He’d never carried a child before. Never been this close to one in all of his time on this earth, but it was easy. Much easier than he’d anticipated. Morgan fit against him, her arms going automatically around his neck, her heart fluttering light, almost bird-like, against his chest. Her head on his shoulder was a delicate weight. Tony tried to take the shark from her, but she scrunched up her nose, a soft “No,” issuing from her lips. 

“‘Kay, peanut,” Tony murmured, but kept an eye on it, ready to catch it if it fell from her hand.

Tony opened the door, and pointed down the hallway. Steve carried Morgan to her bedroom. It was a happy room. All yellow and red and pictures she’d colored tacked to the wall. It made Steve feel good just being in here. 

Tony put his hand on Steve’s back. “I’ll get her in her pjs,” he said quietly. “Don’t call that cab just yet, okay?”

Steve shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Not yet.”

Tony took Morgan and Steve slipped out the door, casting one look back at Tony bending over the little chest of drawers, Morgan lying on her side on the bed, the shark against her chest, her hair shining in the light from the little rose-colored lamp on the bedside table. Looking at them, at the picture they made, Steve felt a sense of great peace settle over him. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had earned that feeling, but he didn’t turn away from it. It was something he had craved for too long. He didn’t have the strength to abandon it. Even if he only got to have it for this one evening, he was going to revel in it. Luxuriate in it. Get drunk on it. 

He went back down the hallway and into the kitchen. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, a loaf of bread sitting out on the counter. A couple of photos were stuck on the fridge with fruit-shaped magnets. An old one of a baby Morgan wearing a pair of way-too-big sunglasses. One of Tony sitting outside somewhere with Morgan in his lap, his coat wrapped around them both. One of Morgan and the pretty redhead Steve remembered from Bucky and Nat’s wedding. Pepper. Morgan’s mom.

Steve looked at that one the longest. He wasn’t jealous--not now, anyway--but he felt something stirring inside him as he looked at the photograph. At the differences and similarities between Pepper and the little girl in her arms. He wasn’t sure what it was he felt. Maybe it was gratitude.

He heard movement at the end of the hallway, and he leaned against the sink, waiting. He didn’t even try to make it look like he wasn’t. Why should he hide it? He’d been waiting for fifteen years.

Tony didn’t make him wait anymore.

He came into the kitchen, and directly into Steve’s arms. He buried his face in his chest, his hands lacing together at the small of his back. “Thank you for today,” he said, squeezing him tighter. “It was…”

Steve put his arms around Tony’s shoulders, loving just how easily they fit around him. Like the way Tony’s hand had felt tucked into his own earlier. How it had felt so _right_. Steve let his hand move up and down Tony’s back, stroking it smoothly. “It’ll be better next time,” he said. “I won’t be so weird. I’ll try and-”

“It was perfect, Steve,” Tony said into his chest, and pressed closer into him. “It was so fucking perfect.”

Steve laughed a little. “I don’t know what I was thinking with the stupid aquarium,” he said. “I mean, Christ, you guys are from California. It’s not like it’s nothing you’ve never seen. I just-” he shrugged, but he didn’t let Tony go. He kept holding him, kept rubbing his back.

“No. Steve, baby, it was just right.” Tony pulled back and touched Steve’s cheek, brushed over his beard. His eyes were wide, dark, those same bad eyes that Steve had fallen in love with over twenty years ago. Slowly, he slipped one arm up around Steve’s neck and drew him downward until their lips met. It was soft. Sweet. “Thank you.”

Steve kissed him again very slowly. He kept it soft, just as Tony had done, not even letting his tongue tease Tony’s. Not yet. Maybe later, but not quite yet. He felt like they still had a little talking to do first. “Do you think Morgan liked it?” he asked, curling his arm tighter around Tony.

Tony nodded. His mouth was still right there. Neither moved away. They just breathed together, lips brushing together as they spoke. “She loved it.”

“I’m sorry I’m so awkward with her. I don’t know much about kids.”

Tony stole another kiss. “Could have fooled me.”

“I’ll get better, okay?” Steve said, then stopped, a tight frown creasing his brow. “I mean, if you want me to…?”

Tony mimicked him unconsciously, the frown, the slight pulling away. “Do you think I _don’t_ want you to?”

Steve laughed a little, but kept the frown. “I don’t know. After how I acted at the coffee stand, I didn’t even know if you’d show up today.”

Tony let out a breath almost like laughter, and pressed his forehead against Steve’s chest. “God, Steve,” he muttered. “You and me. How the fuck did we ever get together in the first place? Huh?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony tilted his head back until he could look up at Steve again. He unlaced his fingers, and began scratching them in small circles against Steve’s back. Tony had always been a bit restless, moving just to move, Steve thought that’s what was happening here. He just needed to move...but not move away. Steve tightened his own arms. “I mean halfway home from coffee last week, I had myself convinced you’d never even call me. Let alone make plans to see me.” He paused, bit his lip meaningfully. “See _us_.”

Steve cast his mind back, trying to remember what he could have said or done that would leave Tony with the impression that he would not call. That he didn’t want to see him. “‘Cause I didn’t promise?” he asked anxiously. “Is that why?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just-I have...trouble with that. You know I do. But that’s no excuse. It’s not. I’m sorry. I really will get better.”

“It wasn’t that.” Tony smiled a little ruefully and rested his head against his chest again. “Or maybe it was. I don’t know. All I know is I was sure you wouldn’t call. And I thought,” he sighed harshly, “it might be because we-- _I_ \--never really talked about Morgan.”

“We’ve talked about her.”

“We’ve talked _around_ her,” Tony corrected, and pulled out of Steve’s arms. He took a few steps down the counter, away from Steve. It left Steve feeling cold. For the first time all day, he felt cold. “We’ve talked about _my daughter_.” He picked up the loaf of bread, untwisted the tie keeping it closed, then twisting it back up again. “But we haven’t talked about _Morgan_. As a person.” He untwisted the tie again. 

Steve looked down at the ground and leaned back against the counter. “So, let’s talk about her.”

“It’s hard,” Tony said, then twisted the bread up again. This time, he opened the cupboard and shoved it inside. He closed the cupboard again with a little more force than necessary. “You know? ‘Cause she depends on me. On me and Pepper. For everything.” He ran a hand through his hair in a distracted way. “And I want her to. I want to give her everything. Everything that I never had.”

“You have, Tony,” Steve said softly. “Just looking at her, looking at this place-” he gestured around the kitchen, but meaning the environment as a whole. “She’s happy. She’s sweet, and gentle, and-” he reached out and touched one of Tony’s hands where it rested on the counter, “-she’s a lot like you. Like when we were kids. _Little_ kids. Like when we met the first time.”

Tony twined his fingers of one hand with Steve’s, but lifted the other and rubbed his temples. “Oh, don’t say that, Steve. That kid was so fucked up.”

Steve laughed. Just a little. Just enough to make Tony look at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t remember him being so fucked up,” Steve said. “I remember him being funny. And smart. And kind.” He moved closer, and slipped one arm around Tony’s waist, tugging him gently into his side. “And pretty good to a kid who was _really_ fucked up.”

“We didn’t even know Barton then, Steve.”

Steve laughed again, and pulled him even closer. He kissed his shoulder, then rested his chin where his mouth had been. “I think we both know who I meant.”

“Sam?”

“Stop deflecting, Stark,” Steve said. “But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is you. _Her._ She’s great. You’re doing great.”

“She fell down last week,” Tony said weakly. They were standing side-by-side, Tony still facing the counter, Steve away from it, their bodies overlapping just the smallest bit. Steve moved the hand that had snuck around Tony’s waist and let his thumb begin to caress him. He kept it over his shirt. Even though he desperately wanted to touch his skin, he kept it over his shirt. This wasn’t about romance. It was about comfort.

“What happened?”

“She was running in the house,” Tony said, then shook his head and raised his hand to his temples again. “Howard always told me ‘No running in the house’, but I let her run. I let her run all she wants. And she was just wearing socks--no shoes, because, you know, Howard _always_ insisted on shoes--and she slipped coming around the corner, and she just went flat on her back.”

“That had to’ve been scary for you,” Steve said softly.

“Scary?” Tony asked bitterly. “I froze. She was just lying there, and I froze. I could see she wasn’t moving. Her chest wasn’t moving, like she couldn’t _breathe_ , and I just fucking froze.”

“Knocked the wind out of her?"

Tony nodded. He inched closer to Steve, held his hand tighter. “When I was finally able to, I ran over to her. She was starting to move by then. She started taking in these big gasps of air, and crying.” He shook his head again. “She said my name. Or, like, _sobbed_ it.” He wiped his cheek gruffly.

Steve tugged him. “Come here,” he said, and Tony came. He was reluctant at first, but as soon as Steve put his arms around him, he melted against his chest.

“I took her to the doctor,” he said, his voice muffled in Steve’s shirt. “She was fine. I knew she was, but I just wanted to be sure, you know?”

“I know.”

“And you get that I have to be careful? About what happens to her? About who I let in?”

“Of course, I do.”

“‘Cause she and I...kind of a package deal.” Tony squeezed Steve tight--very tight--then let him go. Except for his hand. He kept holding his hand. He looked down at it, plucked a little at the skin there. “I guess that’s why I was worried you wouldn’t call me,” he said softly. “We never talked about that. If that was okay with you.”

Steve let his head fall back on his neck and breathed out a laugh. Tony looked at him sharply. “You’re right,” Steve muttered. “How the fuck _did_ we get together?”

“God, you suck at dumping people.”

Steve put his hands on Tony’s hips and pulled him flush against him. He bent until his forehead was pressed against Tony’s. “I’m not dumping you,” he said. “I’m telling you that’s why I’m so nervous around her.”

“ _Why_?” Tony asked in a razor-edged tone.

“‘Cause I get that,” Steve said, and if Tony’s voice was sharp, Steve’s was the stroke of a feather, the smooth glide of silk. “Tony. I get that.” He tightened his grip on Tony’s hips. “I want her to like me. You know? If we’re doing this--like, _really_ doing this--I don’t want to be on the fringes of your life. I want to be _in_ it. And...that means, I’ll be in hers too. And I want her to like me. I want her to-” he sighed, “-be comfortable with me. And I want _you_ to be comfortable with _her_ being comfortable with me. And I want-”

Tony kissed him. 

He put his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him long and hard. His right hand clenched in Steve’s shirt, the left moved restlessly up through his hair, to his neck, his shoulder blade. He licked along the seam of Steve’s lips, and they opened for him, letting him in, his tongue delving deep into his mouth, moving hungrily against Steve’s own. 

Steve pulled back just a little, just enough to take a breath, then laughed it softly out. “Wow. Guess that’s okay, then?”

“Okay?” Tony asked, his hands roaming down Steve’s chest to his waist, then back up again. “You just said everything I was fucking _praying_ you’d say.”

“I’m not even sure I remember what I said now.”

Tony shook his head, pulled him closer again. “You don’t have to remember the words. Just what you meant. You remember that, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good,” he said, and kissed him again, their mouths moving in perfect tandem, both giving and taking, using and being used. Steve held him tightly, pinning him between the sink and his own body. Tony could feel the counter digging into his back, but he didn’t care. He liked it. Liked that little bit of pain. Especially if it meant Steve was pressing so tightly against him, so tightly he could feel the hardness growing between them. 

“Stay here tonight,” he whispered, pushing himself against Steve’s cock, undulating against him. “Please. Baby. Stay here.”

Steve buried his face into Tony’s neck, his lips moving, teeth nipping just enough. “But…Morgan-” he began, but Tony cut him off with another searing kiss.

“Is sound asleep,” Tony said. “In her bed. With the door closed.”

“Dodger-”

“Is a _dog_.”

Steve laughed, his breath heady against Tony’s throat, his tongue a revelation against his skin. “He’s a pretty needy dog.”

Tony skimmed his hands down Steve’s torso, then back up again, smoothing along his shirt. His fingers worked one button open. He kissed the skin he’d uncovered. Flicked it with his tongue. “Well, I’m a pretty needy _human_ ,” he said, “so in case you have some proclivity I don’t know about-”

“ _Tony_.”

“-I can make it _way_ more worth your while to stay here with me instead.”

“God, you say some pretty fucked up shit sometimes,” Steve laughed.

Tony laughed with him and undid another button. “Yeah, well.”

“‘Yeah, well’ really isn’t much of an explanation.”

Tony sighed, looking up at him with molten eyes, his mouth quirking into a tiny, pouty smile. “Do you really want me to keep talking right now?” He undid another button, and ground his erection against Steve’s. Steve moaned in the back of his throat, his hands gripping Tony’s hips tightly. “‘Cause I will,” he promised. “If you want. I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, kissing him again, his voice filling with need. “Whatever you want, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” Steve rasped. “I do, Tony. I want you, but-”

“No,” Tony groaned. “Don’t say ‘but’.”

“- _But_ I don’t think we should. Not yet.”

Tony dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “Baby, please. It’s been so long.”

“I know,” Steve said, and wrapped Tony up in his arms, holding him. “I know how long it’s been. But.”

“But what?”

Steve kissed him again. Softly. Gently. “But we always rushed that part, Tony. We had to. If we wanted it at all, we had to.”

Tony stuttered out a breath, but he gripped Steve tightly, hugging him. “Really?” he muttered into his neck. “You’re telling me no because you don’t want to rush things?”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Steve said, hiding his smile in Tony’s hair. “ _Glacial_. Remember?”

“ _That_ word, you remember.”

“It won’t be forever. It’s just that when we had to rush, it meant that we only had one night.” Steve kissed Tony again, kept him close, kept him in his arms. “I don’t want it to feel like we only have one night.”

Tony sighed and looked up at Steve. He was still pouting, but Steve could see something else in his eyes. Something that was warm and soft and tender. Steve wanted to believe it was love. He hoped it was. God, he _prayed_ it was. If Tony could pray for it, so could Steve. 

“I hate you,” Tony sulked.

Steve laughed softly and squeezed him one more time. “No. You don’t. I’ll bet you wish you did sometimes, but you don’t.”

Tony huffed, traced one finger along Steve’s cheek. “Whatever.”

“You gonna call me tomorrow?”

“ _Maybe_.”

Steve slipped out of his hands and backed toward the door. “I’m pretty sure you will,” he said smoothly.

“Did I tell you I hate you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you at least going to kiss me good-bye?”

Steve came back and kissed him high up on his cheekbone. “Bye,” he said.

Tony rolled his eyes. Bit his lips to hide a smile. “Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just ignore everything I say, guys. I thought of a couple new scenes I wanted to write, so this will be longer than "Two more to go". Not much longer, but it will be longer. I'll give you the head's-up when we're on the last one, though, don't worry. It's weird posting as I write. My first series was halfway written before I even started posting at all, so I always knew what was up. Not so with this one. Oh well. "Whatever." ;)  
> Thanks again! Love you guys!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bunch of talk, really...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, after that little throwback-jaunt I took to the STAY series for some Valentine's Day fluff, we're back here again, with a little fluff, a little romance, and a little drama. Glad to be back!

THIRTY-THREE ANY DAY NOW 

In a way, it was almost like when they were teenagers.

They weren’t hiding it--neither of them were interested in hiding anymore--but since they were taking it slow, it still felt like they were keeping it to themselves. Keeping it _for_ themselves.

Steve had to tell some people, though. He met Sam at a bar on the outskirts of town. They played a few rounds of pool, and then while they sat drinking Cokes and eating bar-nuts, he spilled the news that Tony was back in town, and they were seeing each other.

“Just a couple times,” he said, picking a cashew out of the bowl they were sharing. He didn’t look straight at Sam, just glanced at him through his lashes. “It’s not really serious.”

Sam shook his head. “‘Not really serious’, huh?” he asked. “You do know you’re not the only one who talks to Tony, right?”

“What did _he_ say?” Steve asked sharply, leaning forward over the table. 

Sam mimicked his posture. “He said he’d meet you after homeroom and then you two could make out in the janitor closet during lunch hour.”

Steve threw the cashew at him, then looked at the table. He couldn’t help the way his mouth ticked up into a little smile, though. “We never made out in the janitor closet,” he muttered.

“Still a shitty liar, Rogers.”

“Twice, okay, smartass? We only did it twice.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, now you’ve both got apartments, with beds, so there should be no need for clandestine grope sessions in some poor unsuspecting janitor’s place of business.” He took a sip of his drink. “Or clandestine anything. Hate to break it to you, but you’re adults. So, why the secrecy?”

“It’s not secret,” Steve said. “Just slow. We’re taking it slow.”

Sam furrowed his brow, but his lips twisted into a weary smile. One that Steve recognized from when they were kids. “ _Why_?”

Steve sighed, still watching his own hands. He didn’t even bother trying to hide. Not with Sam. There was literally no point. Sam had seen him at his worst. At his lowest. He had been there, helped him, taken care of him when he didn’t even allow his mother to see. If there was anyone on this earth that he would trust with the absolute truth, it was Sam. 

“I’m scared,” he said. 

“Tony wants it to work, Steve. He wants you. The way he talks, he’s always wanted you.”

“I want him too,” Steve said, resting his head in his hand. “That’s what’s scary.”

“You’re afraid it won’t work?”

Steve shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I’m afraid it will.”

Sam took his other hand and held it over the table. He stared hard at Steve, willing him to meet his eyes, and when he did, Sam squeezed his hand. “You. Deserve. This,” he emphasized.

Steve tightened his grip on Sam’s hand and bit his lip. “Does Wanda think so?”

Sam laughed. “If you’d asked a year ago, she probably would have said no. But now? Yeah, Steve. She thinks so.”

“So...Pietro and Clint...they’re happy?”

“Yeah. They are.”

Steve nodded. “Good,” he sighed, relieved. “That’s good. I was a little nervous about that. You know. ‘Cause...me and him.” He shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Yeah. I know all about you and him,” he said.

Steve smiled and laid his head down onto the table, resting it on top of their clasped hands. “You deserve a damn medal for all you put up with from me,” he said. 

“I don’t need a medal,” Sam said, laughing. “Just keep letting me beat you at pool, and I’ll be happy.”

“You’re an easy man, Sam.”

Sam laughed.

They both did.

\---

He let himself into his mother’s apartment around eleven o’clock. Dodger met him at the door. He didn’t bark, but his entire body wiggled with happiness, his bottom half going one way, his top half going the other way.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said quietly, bending down to ruffle his fur, and laughing to himself when the dog swiped his face with his tongue. “Gross, Dodge,” he said, but it was more than fond. He scratched him behind the ears with both hands, then planted a kiss to the top of his head. “Where’s Mom?”

Sarah sat up from where she’d been lying on the couch. “Right here, honey.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi.”

He came around the couch and kissed her cheek. Dodger followed him, and when Steve sat down beside his mother, he flopped down on the floor on top of his feet.

“How was your night?”

“Good,” Steve answered. “Fun. I finally let Sam beat me at pool. Now he only owes me four thousand, five hundred and sixty dollars.”

She laughed and ran her hand through his hair. “You boys,” she said. 

“How was everything here?”

“It was good. Quiet.”

“You should come out with us next time,” he said. “Let Sam beat _you_ at pool.”

“You know better than that. I don’t let _anyone_ beat me at pool.”

Steve rested his head on her shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. That’s how I got so good. Trying to learn how to beat you.”

“Haven’t done it yet.”

“Give me time.”

She smiled then took his hand. “It _would_ be nice to see Sam over here, though,” she said, then gave him a soft look. “He and Wanda. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he said faintly, and squeezed her hand. “It has. But, I think that might be okay now. At least, that’s what Sam said. He thinks she might not hate me quite as much anymore.”

“She didn’t hate you,” Sarah said, petting his hair. “She was just angry.”

“She had every right to be.”

“Don’t do that,” she said in a tone that was both gentle and firm. He loved that tone. Loved the way she sounded. Especially now. After all the hard times they’d gone through together, how he thought he was going to lose her, he loved it even more. Loved being able to just be near her and listen to her speak. “Don’t beat yourself up over that anymore. Pietro is a good man, but he isn’t _your_ man. He isn’t your match.” She touched his cheek. “He never was, honey.”

He closed his eyes. “I wanted him to be.”

“I know. But you can’t force love where there isn’t any.”

Steve bit his lip, and looked up at her out of the corner of his eye. “Is...um...is that why you never got married again? You didn’t want to force it?”

Sarah kissed the top of his head and curled her arm around him, holding him just the way she had when he was a little boy. And maybe he should have felt strange letting her do that, but he didn’t. He loved that too. “Yes,” she said simply. “I had my man,” she said. “ _My_ match. And when he was gone,” Steve felt her shrug against him, “I didn’t want to be with somebody just to _be_ with somebody. I knew,” she sighed, “there would never-- _could_ never--be anybody else. Not for me.”

“Didn’t you ever get lonely?”

“Sure I did,” she said, then kissed the top of his head again. “But I had you. And I had my work, and my friends, and Adelle Perkins, and the church.” Steve snorted a little, and she squeezed him against her side. “Don’t laugh. It was a real comfort to me.”

“I know, Mom. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I don’t believe everything they believe, either. But it _has_ been a comfort to me. Adelle and I used to light a candle for you every week. First when you were sick as a little boy, and then when you got older, and… Then when you were overseas. Every week.”

“Really?” Steve asked, his heart seeming to glow in his chest. 

“Yes. She adored you.”

“I loved her too.”

“I know you did, honey.”

He rubbed his cheek against her shoulder a bit restlessly and shifted against her. “I wish I could have known _him_ a little better,” he said finally, not wanting to hurt her, but needing to say it. “My dad?”

She touched his cheek again, smoothing across his cheekbone with her thumb. “That’s the one regret I have,” she said. “That you didn’t get to know him. And that he didn’t get to know you. Didn’t get to see what an amazing man you’ve grown up to be.”

Steve sniffed a little, wiped his cheek with the cuff of his shirt. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Would it be okay if I invited some...friends for dinner some night?”

She tensed beside him, her fingers stilling, then they began to move again, caressing his cheek, his hair. “Of course you can, honey,” she said. “Are...are they important?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” she said. “But then yes, I definitely need to meet them. I need to make sure they’re good enough for you, don’t I? Gotta make sure they’ve only got the best intentions.”

Steve sat up straight and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Mom,” he said in an amused tone. Dodger thumped his tail on the floor at the sound of it. “Did you just give me your blessing to be in a three-way relationship?”

She shrugged. “I gave you my blessing to be happy. Whatever that looks like for you...I’m fine with.”

He hugged her, smiling into her shoulder. “I always knew I had the best mom.”

“I knew I had the best kid, too.”

“Except you’re making me sound a lot cooler than I really am.”

She made a soft sound of admonishment. “You’re cool, honey.”

He laughed, and Dodger got to his feet, grinning his doggy-grin, tail wagging vigorously. “Yeah,” Steve said, petting Dodger’s neck. “‘Cause all the coolest guys need their moms to tell them they are.”

“Alright, smartass,” Sarah warned, and Steve laughed again. He felt good. God, he felt so good. Sam, and now his Mom. And Dodger--all on his side. They were always on his side, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t wait to get home. Get home and call Tony.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said. “And trust me, out of the two people in this room, you are _way_ more qualified to judge coolness. But,” she gave his arm a playful swat, and he smiled brightly, “it’s really just one guy. One guy...and his kid.”

Sarah sat up immediately. Her eyes were sharp, the fingers she grasped him with were sharp too. “ _Kid_?” 

Steve nodded. “Uh-huh. Kid. Daughter.”

“You don’t-” Her eyes snapped to the photo on the wall. The one of a baby Morgan in her red dress. Steve looked at it too. Remembered how upset and hurt he’d been by that picture when it had first caught his eye. How different it seemed now. Almost like an omen of things to come. Like a promise.

“Steve?” she said softly, her voice questioning, her eyes dark.

“Mom.”

She gripped him tighter. Her eyes got darker. “Don’t tease me, Steven Rogers,” she said. “It’s not nice.”

He glanced at Morgan’s picture again, thought of the way she’d felt all curled up in his arms as he’d carried her into her bedroom. The happy sound of her voice babbling in the back seat of Tony’s car. How good that had felt. How sweet. Thought of Tony in his arms just a bit later. How good that had felt too. He looked back at his mother, then nodded toward the photo, smiling a tiny smile.

And she started to cry.

“Mom,” he said, distressed, but she waved him off with one hand, while the other rose to cover her mouth to keep in a sob. 

Dodger leapt up, putting his forefeet on the couch, whining in his throat.

“It’s okay, Dodger,” Steve said, hoping he wasn’t lying. “Mom?” He put a tentative hand on her knee. “Mom? You okay?”

“Are you serious?” she asked, tears still falling rapidly. “You _are_ saying Tony, aren’t you? I’m not...making this-” she grasped his hand tight in hers. 

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. Tony. And Morgan.”

“Honey,” she sobbed, and collapsed into his arms, clutching him around the neck, crying into his shoulder.

He put his arm around her, used the other hand to scuff Dodger’s fur, trying to ease him as much as his mother. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said, unable to keep the hint of laughter out of his voice. “Really.”

“ _This_ ,” she said. “ _This_ is what we lit candles for. What we prayed for.”

“You’re not supposed to pray for someone to get a boyfriend, Mom,” he laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what Father Callahan has in mind when he’s standing at the pulpit.”

“I don’t give a damn what Father Callahan has in mind,” she flared. “I’m your mother, and if I want to pray for your happiness, I’ll do it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And Tony’s,” she said, pulling back and wiping her cheeks with her hands. “Because I prayed for his happiness too. And it’s certainly not Father Callahan’s business--or anyone else’s for that matter--if I prayed for you to find it _together_. That’s between me and the Virgin Mary.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He could feel how red his face was, how flushed, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He was happy. Extremely happy. Happier than he could remember being for a very long time. “Well, don’t get too excited yet,” he said, knowing full well that not only was _she_ excited, he was too. “We’re taking it slow. Really slow. In case it doesn’t work out.”

Sarah flapped a hand at him. “ _Slow_ ,” she scoffed. “The last thing the two of you need is ‘slow’. You need to jump in with both feet, you need to-” She stopped, and made a little squeaking sound. She clapped her hand back over her mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, but he could see tears pooling in her lashes again. He thought they were okay, though. He was pretty positive they were happy tears. “I just thought someday you might be leaving Dodger _and_ Morgan with me when you go out. When the _two of you_ go out. And how nice that would be. That’s all.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mom.”

She gave him a guilty, distracted smile. “You’re right, honey,” she said, visibly trying to get herself under control. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put pressure on you. On either of you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

She grasped his hand very tightly. “Are _you_?” she asked. “Are you happy? About this?”

He nodded, squeezing her hands. “Yeah. I am.” He rubbed his cheek on his own shoulder to brush away the remaining tear. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve always _hoped_ for. But-”

“But what?”

He thought about it for a minute. Thought about the ‘but’ that seemed to hover over every interaction, every thought he had about a life with Tony and Morgan in it. He thought about it, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. Why he still had reservations about this. Why he couldn’t jump in with both feet the way Sarah, and Sam, and Tony wanted him to do. 

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing. I’m happy. I want this. I want _them_.”

Sarah scrutinized him, her eyes flashing over his face. “Don’t bottle it in, Steve,” she said softly. “If there _is_ something, tell someone. Tell me. Tell Sam. Tell _Tony_. Okay? Don’t keep it in. That’s not good for you.”

“I know, Mom.”

“Okay.”

He said good-bye shortly after, and he and Dodger went home. It wasn’t far...just down the steps. Mrs. Perkins had left him her apartment when she died. Left him that, and he and Sarah the rest of her estate. She’d had no children of her own, no real family other than a few greedy cousins she said she wouldn’t leave a dime to. They had put the money in an account with both their names on it, but neither of them really touched it. They were both doing okay, money-wise. Steve’s education was paid for, and what bills he had, he covered with his pay from his monthly weekends with the National Guard and a job he got cooking at a diner three mornings a week before school. Steve had paid off Sarah’s medical bills, and she still worked at the hospital four nights a week. He’d tried to get her to quit, but she wouldn’t. She said she liked it. He understood.

He let himself into his apartment, and Dodger went right to his food bowl. Steve didn’t put anything else into it, though. Sarah had fed him dinner. He _did_ break down and give him a treat. He couldn’t bear the sad eyes Dodger kept giving him over the empty bowl. 

He took a quick shower, and sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in nothing but a towel, and looked at the clock on his bedside table. 12:04. Late. Or early. Depending on your thought process. He bit his lip. He knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted to talk to Tony. Wanted to hear his voice. Just to tell him good-night.

Tony answered on the first ring. “It’s midnight, young man,” he said sternly. “Past your curfew.”

Steve grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Hello to you, too.”

“Not kidding. I thought you said you’d be home early?”

“Damn,” he said, lying back on his bed. “You’re still pretty possessive, aren’t you?”

Pause. “Maybe.” Pause again. “Is that bad? Do you not like that? Should I loosen up?”

“No,” Steve said quickly, hating how nervous Tony sounded all of a sudden. “No. Tony. I was kidding. I like it. I always liked it.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked uncertainly. “I know I’m...a lot sometimes. I _can_ be more mellow. I really can. I’ll-”

“Tony, stop,” Steve said. “Please? I don’t want you to be mellow. I like that you’re a lot. I don't want you to change.”

There was quiet on Tony’s end, and Steve waited, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Well…” Tony said finally.

“Pleeease?” Steve said, drawing it out, hoping Tony could be swayed by a little bit of shameless charm. Teenage-Tony would have been. Hopefully Adult-Tony hadn’t grown out of that.

Tony let out a breath, and Steve grinned again, relief rolling over him. “You might regret this later,” Tony said.

“I don’t think so,” Steve said. 

“We’ll see.”

“Sure will.”

“ _Are_ you just getting home?”Tony asked. “Have you and Wilson been out painting the town red this whole time?”

Steve laughed and leaned back against the headboard, toying idly with the phone-cord. “No,” he said. “I’ve been home for a while. Just picking Dodger up from Mom’s.”

“I can’t believe you have your mom babysit your dog.”

“He doesn't like staying home alone.”

“Neither do I,” Tony said into his ear. “Come over.”

“You’re not alone," Steve pointed out. "Morgan’s there.”

“Yeah, but she’s in bed. Has been for hours. I’m lonely. Come over.”

Steve sighed. He was lonely too. Sure, he had spent the evening with his best friend, and then came home to his mother and his dog, but he was still lonely. That wasn’t anything new--he’d always been lonely--but he’d felt it more keenly over the last couple weeks. Ever since seeing Tony again. When he wasn't with him, he felt the loneliness more. “I’m...tempted,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

“Baby,” Tony breathed, and the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood up. “Don’t talk to me like that unless you’re really going to come over here and do something about it.”

Steve shifted on his bed. He was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing a towel. That he had really only been with three people in his entire life. That it had been a _very_ long time since he had been with anyone. That the last one had been a three-night stand right after he and Pietro called it quits, and that his first--his _best_ \--was talking to him right now in a voice that was soft and liquid-warm in his ear. “It’s late,” he said, keeping his own voice quiet, but unable to keep the hint of desire out of it. “And it’ll be even later by the time I get over there.”

Tony laughed low and sensual. “Do I care?” he asked. “Do _you_ care? Come over here, baby. I want to see you.”

“I want to see you too.”

“Mmm. Then come over. I miss you.”

He wanted to.

He _really_ wanted to.

But, in the end, his practicality--and whatever that tiny, bothersome thing in the back of his head that kept him from diving into this--won out. “Not tonight,” he sighed. 

“You are a cruel, cruel man, Steve Rogers.”

Steve drew the cord between his fingers again. He’d donated most of Mrs. Perkins’s things when he moved into the apartment, but he’d kept some stuff. Practical stuff that he needed and didn’t really have. Plates and silverware. The dining table. A desk and bookcases. Some lamps. And the phone. He’d kept the phone on the bedside table, and he wondered with a small smile what she’d think right now if she knew he was using it to talk to his boyfriend at twelve-thirty a.m. while the beginnings of an erection began to stir. 

He laughed a little. He couldn’t help it. Mostly because he thought she wouldn’t mind at all.

Tony, who didn’t know his thought process, huffed in his ear. “That’s funny? You’re taking pleasure in my pain, Rogers? Cruel.”

“Not in your pain,” Steve said, and let one hand trail down his chest. “But I _am_ taking pleasure in listening to you talk. Is that so wrong?”

The other end of the line grew very still. Steve waited, biting his lip, caressing his chest, his stomach. He brushed over his nipple and drew in a quiet breath at the little shiver that went through his body.

“Um,” Tony said, and his voice was softer. Darker. “How _much_ pleasure?” 

“Just a little right now.” He paused meaningfully. “But, I’ll bet you could get me there.”

“Are you serious?” Tony asked. “I mean, are you--are we--seriously doing this right now?”

“If you want to,” Steve said, and loosened the towel around his waist. “I’ve never done it before, so I don’t really know what to say, but-” he gave his cock one long, hard stroke, “-if you want to, _I_ want to.”

Tony let out a surprised breath. “ _Yeah_ ,” he gasped, and there was an almost frantic rustling in Steve’s ear.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready,” Tony snapped. “God, if I’d known this was how this call was going to go down, I would have put on something a little sexier than Batman pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt.”

Steve laughed languidly. “You do know I can’t see you, right?”

“About that. Why the _fuck_ don’t you own a cell-phone again? Phone sex has gotten way more effective since the dawn of the video-age.”

Steve stroked himself again. “I don’t know. It’s feeling pretty effective just like this.”

“How far along are you? Fuck, baby, give me a minute. Let me catch up.”

“So, you don’t want me to say anything?” he asked innocently, knowing full well how it would affect Tony. “You just want me to be quiet? Not talk? Not tell you how much I’ve been thinking about you all night long? How much I wanted to see you?”

Tony’s breath grew rougher in his ear. “Oh no,” he whispered in a husky tone, “I want to hear about that. I want to hear all about that. Tell me. Tell me what you were thinking.”

“‘Bout how it felt the other night when you kissed me,” Steve said, his hand moving over his cock, teasing the head with his thumb, using the gathering wetness to ease his way. “How your mouth tasted. How much I wanted to get down on my knees right there in the kitchen and taste you again for real.”

“Oh fuck, Steve.”

Steve drew in a hot breath. “Are you caught up?”

Tony panted out a laugh. “Pretty sure I’m way past you now, actually.”

Steve picked up the pace, jerking himself faster, imagining Tony’s hand instead of his own. Those hands. Those beautiful, rough, _perfect_ hands traveling over his skin. That mouth closing over his nipple. Those eyes staring up at him, filled with dark lust and sweet, gentle love all mixed up in a divine cocktail of desire. 

“Talk to me,” Tony rasped in his ear. 

“What should I say?” 

“Tell me again,” he whispered, a desperate edge to his voice. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“More than anything,” Steve said, and he could hear the same desperation in his own voice. The same need. The same hot, wild craving. “Tony. Tony, I want you so much. I want all of you. I want to feel you, and taste you. I wanna lay you down and...and--oh god, Tony.”

“You wanna fuck me, baby?” Tony asked, and Steve nodded, losing himself in the moment, losing everything around him, losing everything to the thought of Tony beneath him, their bodies moving together in a serpentine dance, one arm holding him against his chest, the other braced on the bed below, pistoning into him, _fucking_ into him as fast and hard as he could.

“Yes,” he said harshly. “Want to fill you up. I-I _need_ to.”

“Fuck. Fuck, baby.”

“ _Tony_.”

“I’m-”

“Come for me, Tony. Right now. C-” He fell back on the pillows, cock spurting into his hand, covering his stomach. In his ear, he heard Tony cry out softly, and for one blinding, brilliant moment, he almost felt like he was there with him, holding his sweat-slick body against him, both of them panting, both of them flushed with heat and passion, Tony weak in his arms the way he only was when they were like this. When they were holding each other in the sweet, floaty after-time.

“ _Damn_ ,” Tony breathed in his ear, and Steve laughed helplessly. “Where did _that_ come from? And more importantly, why haven’t we done this before?”

“We’re idiots.”

“Yes. Yes, I think that’s the answer.”

Steve lay still, letting his thundering heartbeat slow to something approaching normal. He could hear Tony breathing in his ear. Could hear the sound of him moving on his bed-sheets. “I wish you were here,” Steve said softly. “Or I was there.” He paused, not wanting to go too far, but needing Tony to know how he felt. “I wish I could feel you right now.”

“Me too, baby,” Tony said, then let out a long breath. “I’ve missed you. Missed us. I wish we had…” He trailed off and exhaled again.

Steve shook his head and put his arm over his eyes. He didn’t want to feel like he was going to cry right now, but he did. He could feel tears threatening. And the fear that came with them. The fear that this might be too good to be true. That it was all going to slip through his fingers again. That he would never be able to hold onto it, because how could he? He’d never been able to before. He lost everything. Everything good. It was inevitable.

“Don’t,” Steve whispered. “Okay? Please? Let’s not talk about what should have happened between us. It’s done, right? All that...it’s the past. Isn’t it?”

“You’re right. Let’s just think about the future. Our future.”

Steve wiped away the tear that escaped his lashes. “Yeah,” he said. “The future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry too much about this! I swear we are not going back into the darkness, maybe just a step into the shadows for a second. We have come WAY too far to go back now! Our boys will get their happiness. And I'm not like Steve--I'm promising! :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night!

… 

Tony called Steve at work and asked if he wanted to come for dinner that night.

“I’m making lasagna,” he coaxed in a sing-song voice. 

“You’re cooking?” Steve asked. He was leaning against the doorway leading into the diner’s kitchen. He’d felt a little strange when he first told Tony about his job--it seemed a bit too close to what Howard had predicted for him as a teenager for comfort--but Tony had just told him that sounded great. That he loved diners. Loved diner-food. Loved any kind of food really. He needed food. He required it. Did this mean Steve would bring him food? He was very open to the idea of Steve being his personal food-cooker-slash-bringer.

Steve laughed, and the strangeness disappeared. He was kind of open to that idea too.

“I’m a fantastic cook, I’ll have you know,” Tony said. “Come for dinner and see for yourself.”

Steve ducked his head, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of Tony cooking for him too was extremely appealing. “‘Kay. I’ll be there. What time?”

“We have dinner early around here. Is five-thirty okay for you?”

“Sure,” he said, then scuffed one foot on the floor, the blush growing more heated. “And then what?”

“Well,” Tony purred in his ear. “Then we watch a movie. A _short_ one. Then I put Morgan to bed. Then…”

“Yeah?” 

“Then maybe we make a little movie of our own.”

Steve exhaled long and slow. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yes, Steve,” Tony agreed. “That’s what I had in mind.”

Steve let himself think about that for a few seconds. Tony beneath him. Or maybe on top of him. Riding his cock, biting at his lips, sucking his tongue, skin hot and slick, moaning in the back of his throat like he did when it was really, _really_ good. Steve swallowed thickly, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth, then shook his head as if trying to clear the image. 

“Um,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if making a movie is a very good idea.”

“Really?” Tony asked, and his voice was dark--almost predatory. “Because I think it _is_ a very good idea.”

“Let me clarify,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “I meant making a movie isn’t a very good idea _tonight_.” He paused and Tony hummed in his ear, telling him that he disagreed but was willing to listen. “I’m not opposed to...movie-making-” the corresponding hum was vastly more pleased, “-but maybe not while your six-year-old daughter’s just down the hall.”

“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Tony said in the same tone he’d used when trying to tempt Steve with lasagna.

Steve grinned, looking down at his shoes. Behind him, one of the servers shouted, “Rogers! Still on break, or what?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Coming,” he said.

“Save it for the camera, baby,” Tony growled in his ear, and Steve blushed harder. Smiled more. How did he get so lucky?

“Look, Tony,” he said, “no movies tonight, okay?”

“But _Steeeve-_ ”

“No, just...I was thinking. Maybe this weekend…”

“My birthday’s this weekend.”

“I know.”

“Rogers!”

Steve stood up straight. Ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight, okay? And we can talk about it?”

“Okay,” Tony said. “I’m looking very forward to this talk, just so you know.”

“Me too.”

And he was. Looking _very_ forward to it. Even if he still had his reservations, he was looking forward to it. Every moment he spent with Tony--or even thinking about him--made the reservations he had seem a little smaller. A little sillier. God, that felt good.

He raised his hand now, and knocked on Tony’s door. Dodger was at his side, sitting on his haunches, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He’d thought about leaving him with his mom, but he decided to bring him instead. If they were going to be in each other’s lives, Tony would have to get used to Dodger sometime, and there was no time like the present.

He heard a scrambling on the other side of the door, then it was thrown open, and Morgan was there, beaming up at him, her hair in pigtails, teeth white and perfect inside her rosebud mouth. He thought she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Steve!” she cried, and jumped into his space, crowding against him and burying her head into his stomach, little arms going around his waist.

He tensed nervously, then relaxed and put his hand on the back of her head, holding her loosely. “Hey,” he said, feeling some kind of...something swell inside of him. 

“Daddy’s cooking,” she said into his stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, petting her hair gently. “It smells good.”

“It’s lasagna.”

“My favorite.”

Dodger whined, trying to remind them he was here and wanted some attention too, and Morgan dropped to her knees to hug him around the neck. “Hi, Dodger,” she said, and he bumped her cheek with his nose. She let out a high-pitched string of giggles, and that _something_ Steve had felt when she hugged him shivered through him again.

She stood up and grabbed Steve’s hand. “Come _on_ , Steve,” she said, tugging on him, and he and Dodger followed obediently. He had a feeling he might be in trouble here. Had a feeling being led around by the hand by this kid could get to become a habit he might never want to break. And he was fine with it. Totally fine. “Daddy!” she called as she led him through the door. “Steve and Dodger are here!”

“Play hostess!”

“‘Kay, Daddy!” she answered, then turned her eyes up to Steve’s. “May I take your coat?” she asked formally, and Steve bit the insides of his cheeks to keep the laughter in. 

“Um,” he managed. “Sure.” He stripped his jacket off and handed it to her. She laid it across her arms, treating it like it was five thousand-dollar mink instead of second-hand, scuffed leather.

“Coats go on Daddy’s bed,” she informed him. “Can I show Dodger my room?”

Steve bent down and ruffled the dog’s fur. Dodger looked up at him, asking if it was okay if he explored the unfamiliar place. Steve handed the end of the leash to Morgan. “We’ll keep him leashed for a while,” he said. “Until he understands what’s expected of him, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, and started away. As she passed the kitchen, Tony met her.

“Coats on the bed,” he said, kissing the top of her head. 

“I know, Daddy.”

“No dogs on the bed.” He patted Dodger’s head. “Sorry, Dodger.”

Dodger wagged his tail. Steve snorted quiet laughter. It was obvious Tony had very little experience with dogs. It was also obvious Tony was trying very hard with this particular dog. 

That warm feeling--that _something_ \--Steve had felt with Morgan grew, as he watched her lead Dodger down the hallway, then just kept growing when Tony came toward him, put his arm around his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was brief, friendly, and sweet. Steve’s heart thumped crazily in his chest.

“Hi,” Tony said.

“Hi.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Tony looked at him for a second, then frowned. He moved his hand down to cup Steve’s cheek. “You’re pale.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

He brushed one finger along the thin skin under Steve’s eye. It had looked a little bruised when Steve looked in the mirror this morning. He had convinced himself it wasn’t noticeable. No one at work mentioned it, although Sarah had asked if he felt alright when he popped up to tell her good-bye before leaving for the evening. 

“You don’t look like you slept last night.”

“I’m fine.”

Tony slipped his finger down along Steve’s jaw, caressing his cheek, that worried look still on his face. “Is everything okay?”

Steve opened his mouth to tell him he was fine again, but then closed it. He wasn’t really fine. He’d had a bad night. Long. Plagued with nightmares. Hearing Bucky screaming on the ground, seeing poor Jonathon’s ruined body on the roadside. He had shaken it off throughout the day, and he hadn’t needed a drink that badly, but he couldn’t resist the comfort of a cigarette, and had bummed two off the dishwasher at the diner. He had smoked them in the alley outside, leaning against the brick. It was only when Tony called and he heard his voice, that he finally felt better. Easier in his brain somehow.

“I, um, I didn’t sleep very well last night,” he admitted quietly, and Tony’s worried frown didn’t go away. Steve put his hand over Tony’s and held it against his cheek. “I’m okay now,” he went on. “Mostly. But yeah. It was rough last night.”

“Baby,” Tony said softly. “You didn’t have to come over tonight. We could have postponed until you felt better.”

Steve shook his head. “I _wanted_ to come over. I wanted to see you. See both of you. And I really am okay now.” He hoped it was true. He could usually work through these things in a day or two, but sometimes they intensified. Sometimes they got worse before they got better.

Tony slipped his arm around Steve’s waist and pulled him closer, until they were pressed together, his other hand still on Steve’s cheek. “What can I do?” he asked.

Steve bent and kissed his mouth. He didn’t know how comfortable Morgan would be with seeing them in each other’s arms just yet. He wasn’t sure how much Tony had told her about their relationship, or if it was even a big deal at all. He didn’t want to risk upsetting her, but he needed that kiss. He needed that touch. Just for a second.

He let his tongue touch Tony’s, a slow, smooth slide, then pulled away. Not too far. Just enough to break the kiss. “Just treat me like normal, okay?” he asked. “Don’t kid-glove me. I’m fine.”

“Please don’t pull macho bullshit on me.”

“I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t tell you I had nightmares and didn’t sleep last night. Just-” he moved Tony’s hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, “-You just gotta give me a little time, okay? A little space to work through this stuff. I’m still learning how to cope with it all without...you know…” he waved his hand in an indistinct manner, but Tony nodded immediately. He got it. Steve knew he would. He had grown up with Howard Stark, after all. 

Tony kissed him again. “Okay. But I want you to know you can talk to me. About this. Or anything. I’m here, baby. I want to help you if I can.”

“I know,” Steve said, gave him a brief squeeze, then stepped away. “Let’s just have a good night, okay? I just wanna focus on that.”

Tony nodded. “Okay.”

“So, where’s this famous lasagna?”

“It _is_ famous,” Tony said, slipping back into his usual tone of voice, part challenge, part brag, part flagrant flirting. “It’s so famous, people know it on three continents.”

“But _I’m_ just tasting it now?”

Tony started back toward the kitchen, just assuming Steve would follow. He was right. “The best things come to those who wait,” he said over his shoulder.

Steve snaked his arm around Tony’s waist, pulling him against him, Tony’s back to Steve’s hard chest. He sunk his teeth gently into Tony’s shoulder. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

Tony melted back against him, clasping Steve’s hand in his, using it to hold him tight. “I hate that you’re right,” he whispered, and tipped his head back onto Steve’s shoulder, just enough that he could lick a little stripe along his throat.

Steve groaned and pushed Tony away. _Not the time,_ his brain insisted. _Might be the place, but definitely_ not _the time._ “Back to work, Stark,” he said, and Tony laughed.

“You started it.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

Steve shrugged. He had no argument.

\---

Tony was right--the lasagna was fantastic.

They ate in the kitchen at the butcher-block island, the three of them on stools, Dodger wandering between them, trying his best to get a bite. No one gave him one, at Tony’s insistence that he not be fed at the table, but that didn’t stop him from trying. When they finished eating, Tony said, “Ugh, fine,” and scraped the last few bites of his own lasagna into a bowl and put it on the floor near the sink. Dodger wagged his tail in thanks and scarfed it down.

They went into the living room after dinner. The coffee table was littered with bottles of nail polish and remover--the remains of an afternoon playing nail-salon, Tony informed Steve with a little shrug--and Steve sat down on the couch. Dodger tried to hop up next to him, but Steve gave him a look, and he laid down on the rug next to it instead, closed his eyes, and was asleep in seconds. It was a big couch, a huge sectional, taking up most of the living space, but Morgan settled herself right next to Steve.

“I want _Nemo_ ,” she said, curling into his side.

“ _Nemo,_ it is,” Tony said, and popped the DVD in. When he turned back, he stopped, a flurry of emotions passing over his face in the space of a few seconds as he looked at Steve and Morgan on the couch. Steve met his eye, smiling a little, and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Move, please, Daddy,” Morgan said sweetly. “You’re covering up _Nemo_.”

Tony nodded, his eyes still on Steve’s. “Yeah. Okay. Far be it from me to cover up _Nemo_.” He sat down on Morgan’s other side. “Not like we haven’t seen it fifty times in the last couple weeks.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch and rubbed the back of Steve’s neck. “Which is your fault, by the way. Ever since the aquarium, she hasn’t wanted to watch anything else.”

Steve glanced at him. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Shh,” Morgan said quietly and pointed at the television. “ _Nemo_.”

Steve and Tony shared an amused look over her head, then turned back to the TV. Tony kept his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. Steve tipped his head to the side, leaning into the touch. With Dodger lying on the rug near their feet, the lights turned low, and the warmth of Morgan pressed up against him, Steve didn’t think he’d ever felt quite so happy in his entire life. The nightmares of the night before seemed a million miles away.

When Nemo was found and the credits began to roll, Tony used the remote control to turn off the DVD. Morgan was sound asleep, sprawled halfway in Steve’s lap. Tony stood up and stretched his arms above his head, revealing that sliver of skin Steve remembered so well from when they were kids.

“I almost hate to move her,” he said quietly. “She looks too comfy.”

“I guess I make a good pillow,” Steve said, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Yes, you do,” Tony agreed. “Best pillow ever.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve’s. “I’ll take her to bed,” he said. “Then we’ll have that talk, huh?”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Tony scooped Morgan up in his arms. She opened her eyes. _“_ Nemo,” she said.

“Don’t worry, peanut,” Tony murmured in her ear. “Nemo’s safe. His daddy found him, remember?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, then frowned. “ _Steve_.”

Tony turned around so she could see Steve over his shoulder. “That’s okay too. He’s still here. See?”

“Is he having a sleepover?” she asked groggily. “Dodger can sleep in my bed.”

Tony shot Steve a victorious look. Steve rolled his eyes. “We’ll see,” Tony said. “Let’s go get you in your pjs. Say good-night.”

“Night-night,” she said, eyes already slipping shut, mouth growing slack with sleep. 

Tony carried her away, and Dodger got to his feet and followed, leaving Steve alone in the living room. He folded the blanket Tony had tossed over Morgan halfway through the movie and laid it across the back of the couch, then reached out to toy with the bottles of nail polish, his fingers sorting them automatically by color. While he did, he thought about the evening they’d had, the three of them together. How it had felt from the first moment when Morgan had hugged him at the door. How that feeling had just gotten bigger and bigger, filling in the empty places inside him, lighting him up, almost taking him over. He hadn’t had a name for it at first, but now, sitting here in this quiet room, he thought he knew what it was. 

_Home_.

He stopped playing with the bottles when Tony came back into the room. He sat back on the sofa and looked at him. Tony didn’t stop, just climbed into his lap, straddling his hips with an easy confidence, and kissed him deeply. Steve moved his hands up Tony’s back, going under his shirt to touch bare skin, urging him closer, as close as he could get him. Tony unbuttoned Steve’s top button and ducked his head to nip at his collarbone. 

“Hi,” he breathed, cupping Steve’s cheek to tip his head back, gaining him fuller access to his mouth.

“Hi,” Steve said. His hands were on Tony’s ass now, openly groping him and not giving one single fuck. He trailed hot kisses down his neck, then back up to his mouth, finding Tony’s tongue with his own, and letting them move together in that familiar, hungry way they had done for years.

Tony popped another button on Steve’s shirt, kissed his chest, then popped another.

Steve put his hands on Tony’s hips and maneuvered him back slightly. “This isn’t exactly glacial,” he said, and Tony scoffed.

“Pfft. _Glacial._ I’m tired of glacial, Steve. I don’t want to do glacial anymore. I want...what’s the opposite of glacial?”

Steve snuck his fingers back under Tony’s shirt, but kept his palms on his hips, still wanting to touch him, but trying to slow it down just a little too. “Don’t know,” he said. “Um. Forest fire?”

Tony slid closer. He was working against Steve’s steadying hands, but it wasn’t really that difficult. “Mmm. Forest fire. Yeah. Yeah. I want that. Let’s do that instead.”

“Wait. The opposite of glacial might be global warming.”

Tony huffed sulkily. “Don’t talk about global warming. It’s depressing.”

“Forest fires are depressing too. If you think about it and don’t just use it as a metaphor for sex.”

“No-oo,” Tony whined. He stuck his bottom lip out just a little, and Steve laughed, tipping his head onto the back of the couch. “Stop. You’re not playing fair.”

“You’re the one not playing fair,” Steve said, and touched Tony’s bottom lip. “Pouting like that. You know I’m no good at resisting that.”

“That’s why I do it,” Tony said, and now he sounded almost smug. He leaned closer to Steve, lying against his broad chest and nuzzling his neck. “I like to get my own way. But the good thing is, my way is usually pretty good for you too.”

“That’s true,” Steve said, sliding his hands up and down Tony’s back again, smiling when he arched into it like a cat. “You better watch out, though. If Morgan sees _you_ doing that, and sees _me_ not resisting, she’s gonna start to think she can get away with it too.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Tony whispered in his ear. “She’s already figured that out. She’s got me so wrapped around her little finger, I’m lucky I can do _anything_ without clearing it with her first.” He bit Steve’s ear lobe. “And, you’re well on your way too, I’m afraid. I saw how you were with her tonight.”

Steve smiled guiltily. “Maybe,” he said. “But asking if I was having a sleepover? You put her up to that,” he accused, and Tony laughed darkly against his neck.

“Nope. Just an extremely happy coincidence.” He sucked a bruise onto Steve’s skin, then licked the same spot, soothing it. “She’s very taken with you,” he said. “She never acts like this with new people. She’s usually very reserved.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You Starks have a real problem with being reserved. You’re almost boring.”

“Blasphemy.”

Steve laughed, and put his arms around Tony’s waist and held him tightly. He closed his eyes and just held him, breathing him in. He hummed a little as Tony slipped his hands through his hair, still brushing his lips along his neck.

“You really _could_ have a sleepover, you know,” Tony whispered, his breath tickling Steve’s ear. “I’d love that.”

“No movies tonight, Scorsese,” Steve said without lifting his head.

“We don’t have to make a movie,” Tony said, and held him tighter. “We don’t have to do anything. It’d be nice to just hold you. Just wake up with you.” He kissed Steve’s jaw. “It’s been a long time since we did that. And that time-”

“I couldn’t even kiss you,” Steve said. “I remember.” He breathed out, pressed his mouth to Tony’s shoulder and held it there. “It _would_ be nice, but…”

Tony sat up straight. “But _what_?”

“But, I was just thinking about what I said earlier,” he said, and Tony slid off his lap with a groan. He collapsed on his back on the couch, arms spread wide, defeat writ large on his face. Steve laughed and grabbed his arm to haul him back up. “As I was saying,” he began, and Tony groaned again. “I know it’s your birthday this weekend, and you’ve probably already got plans, but-”

“Every single plan I had changed when you showed back up, Steve,” Tony said, leaning back against the couch cushions.

That warm feeling--that _home_ feeling--lit up his chest again. “Yeah?”

“Y-” Tony said, then stopped. His face fell.

“What?”

“Every plan I had...except this one.”

Steve nodded. “It’s okay.”

Tony nudged him with his shoulder. “Stop being understanding and be mad at me instead.”

“Mad at you for what?” He shrugged and nudged Tony back. “Not only are you Starks not boring, but you’re also not not-popular either. I’ve known that forever.”

Tony leaned into him, put his hand on his thigh. There was nothing sexy about it. It was just a comfortable touch. “I would change this plan too,” he said, “except it’s kind of a work-thing. Howard’s been planning it for a long time, and it would be kind of a dick-move to uproot it.” He moved his thumb against Steve’s jeans. “I’d much rather blow it off and hang out with you alone all night.”

“It really is okay.”

“Ooh,” Tony sighed, “but you could come,” he said in a way that sounded like a huge burden had been removed from his shoulders. 

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, and turned so he was facing Steve. His eyes were lit up, looking excited. “Yeah. Please? Please come with me to my boring, monotonous, ridiculously gaudy Stark Industries birthday-thing?” He grasped Steve’s hand and clutched it to his chest, batting his eyes until Steve chuckled. “God, baby, please?”

“From pouting to begging? I don’t know,” Steve said, but he did know. He’d known the second Tony asked. If it was what Tony wanted, he’d figure out a way to do it. Even if it meant encountering Howard Stark again after all this time, he’d figure it out. For Tony, he’d figure it out.

“We won’t stay all night,” Tony assured him, and when he put his hand on Steve's thigh this time, it _was_ sexual. Purely sexual. He stroked it with his thumb, teasing the inner seam of his jeans high up his leg. “No,” he said, like Steve had disagreed with him. “No, we’ll leave early. And Morgan can go home with Auntie Nat and Uncle Bucky, and Dodger can go home with Grandma Sarah--who should come to the party too, by the way. She and Sam and Wanda. And Dodger. Oh, fuck yes, _please_ bring Dodger--and then you and I can come back here. Alone. And...you know...celebrate.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Celebrate? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Celebrate, copulate, it’s all the same thing.”

“I don’t know if it’s _all_ the same thing.”

“It’s _mostly_ the same thing.”

Steve laughed. He loved this. He remembered this. This part of being in Tony’s life. It was a part they had not been able to enjoy much since they were teenagers. The sex-part they got a little. Sometimes it was _all_ they got. And he loved that part too. But this? This sitting around, unhurried, relaxing on a sofa in a darkened, quiet room, just talking? Talking and making plans, touching each other, teasing each other? No. They hadn’t gotten much of that. And when they had, there had still been a dark cloud hanging over it. A dark cloud that said they’d better enjoy it while it lasted, because, really, it _wouldn’t_ last. It couldn’t. There were too many other things. Too much of the other stuff. The outside stuff. Stuff that had little to do with _them--_ the ‘them’ that was Steve and Tony, Tony and Steve, anyway--but dictated every second of their lives.

Steve leaned forward and picked up one of the bottles of nail polish. It was a deep, dark red, the color of Bordeaux poured into a crystal glass. He rolled it between his hands like his mother did before she painted her nails, then opened the little bottle. “How’s that going, anyway?” he asked, as he adjusted Tony’s hand on his thigh to a better angle, and swept the color onto the nail of his index finger. It shone in the soft lamp-light. “Working with your father? Is it okay?”

Tony narrowed his eyes as Steve brushed the color over his nail. “Are you trying to distract me?” he asked. “Get out of saying you’ll come to the party?”

Steve glanced up at him, smiled, then turned his attention back to his task. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll come. Don’t worry.”

Tony let out a surprised, relieved breath. “Really?” he asked. “You’ll come? For real?”

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“ _If_?” Tony said incredulously. “Yes. Steve. Yes. I want you there.”

Steve moved on to the nail of Tony’s ring finger. Painted it with easy, precise strokes. “Then, I’m there.”

Tony surged forward and kissed him long and hard. Steve kissed back, but he couldn’t help the way he smiled through the whole thing, keeping it from growing too heated, but making that feeling--that _home_ feeling--course through him again, fully and completely.

“Hey,” Steve said finally, pulling back a little. “You’re messing up your paint-job.”

Tony looked at him, eyes shining. Sparkling. “You can do it again. In the morning. Right?” he asked, and Steve knew he wouldn’t say no. How could he say no? How had he _ever_ said no?

Steve nodded his head. “But just sleep, okay?” he managed, trying to hold on to that last shred of self-control. 

“Sleep,” Tony agreed. “Just sleep. We copulate this weekend.”

“ _Tony_.”

Tony shrugged, smiling a wicked little smile. “Copulate, celebrate. Same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting!❤️❤️❤️


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, the next morning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write this. I was just going to skip right to the birthday, but I was feeling like a big, old sap and couldn't resist it. It's short, because it's not really super important. It's mostly just a little bit of relationship-building and normal morning stuff, but occasionally, I am a sucker for that kind of thing, and I guess today is one of those kinds of days.

… 

He woke up twice during the night, but considering he had not slept at all the night before, he thought he was doing okay. 

The first time was an hour after he fell asleep. Tony kept him awake for a little while when they first went into the bedroom, kissing him with slow, maddening intensity, sending Steve’s defenses in disarray, making him weak with want. He held himself together though. 

Barely.

When he couldn’t get Steve to give in, Tony kissed his way down Steve’s chest, then rested his cheek against it, lying mostly on top of him and said, “Best. Pillow. Ever.”

“I live to serve.”

“If that was true, we would be in a very different position right now,” Tony mumbled. His voice was sleepy though, eyelids drooping.

“What position would that be?”

“You’ll see. Positions are my specialty.”

Steve squeezed Tony tightly. “I kind of like this position.”

Tony kissed his chest again. “Me too, baby.”

Tony drifted off not long after that, and Steve lay quiet, thinking about how he had gotten here. Thinking about all the years that had passed since he’d first met that small, dark-haired boy in an elementary school cafeteria. Years since they’d kissed on that tree stump behind the school. Years since they’d met again, in high school this time. Since they’d kissed again. Since they’d made love. Since they’d _fallen_ in love. Since they’d broken each other’s hearts.

He didn’t want to think about the years they’d been apart. Years that had equaled almost half his life. A lot had happened over the course of those years, and his feelings over them were wildly diverse. Anger, fear, pain, pride, despondency, terror, confusion. He’d felt them all--sometimes all of them at the same time.

He closed his eyes, listening to Tony’s quiet, easy breath, feeling that same breath puff against his bare skin, and now all he could think was that it was worth it. Everything he had gone through, everything he had done, and felt. All the pain he had endured. All the times he had _Held It Together_ because there was nothing else he _could_ do...it was worth it. If this was truly happening, if this was _real_ , then it was worth it.

But knowing that still didn’t stop the nightmares. 

He couldn’t all the details when he jolted awake an hour later, just that there had been blood and sand and screams. He woke panting, sweating, arms holding Tony tightly--too tightly. Tony struggled within that tight circle, mumbling something, frowning even as he slept, and Steve released him quickly. Tony stopped struggling and rolled away, turning his back to Steve, and curled up into a ball.

Steve touched his shoulder tentatively. “Tony?” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Just a soft, questioning sound.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“Okay.”

Steve laid back down, unsure of what to do, how he should place his body. He wanted to curl against Tony’s back, hold him again, but he didn’t want to crowd him. Didn’t want to clutch him too tightly again, so he just put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep. 

When he jerked awake the second time, he didn’t hesitate. He just rolled toward Tony and fit himself around him, holding him against his chest. Tony hummed pleasantly and reached back to touch him.

“Steve?” he murmured.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Good.”

Tony fell quickly back to sleep, but for Steve, it wasn’t so easy. He lay quietly, drawing in long, flat breaths, trying to calm himself. It worked--mostly--but he knew there would be no more sleep for him that night. He looked at his watch and saw that it was four AM. That didn’t seem unreasonable to him. He usually got up at five-thirty, so it was not that far off from normal, but he didn’t want to get up just yet. He wanted to lie here with Tony, feeling his heart beating against his chest, sharing his sweet bed-warmth, smelling his scent, filling his lungs with it.

He lay there for another hour, then got up--slowly, so he didn’t wake Tony up again--and drug his clothes on in the dark. He found his way to the bathroom, peed, washed, and scrubbed a little toothpaste on his teeth. He wished he had his toothbrush. He thought he’d have to get one to keep here if he was going to be spending nights...and he smiled about that while he rinsed and spit. That was an interesting experience. One that, if asked, he never would have thought he’d have, but here he was. Smiling and spitting toothpaste out in Tony’s sink at five o’clock in the morning.

He left the bathroom, went back to the bed and pulled the blanket up over Tony’s shoulder. Before he left, he moved it back down, kissed the warm skin there, then covered it back up again. Tony didn’t move. Steve smiled a little. He loved the way Tony looked while he slept. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually seen it, but it was one of his favorite things. Something he could live the rest of his life thinking about and never feel like there had been a second wasted.

He grabbed his coat, then went down the hall to Morgan’s room. There was a tiny night light in the corner, casting a pinkish glow over the room. Morgan was sprawled in the middle of the bed, blankets thrown off. Dodger was curled up at the foot. He looked up at Steve guiltily, and thumped his tail. Steve shook his head and patted him, then maneuvered Morgan back onto her pillows and tucked the blanket around her.

“Come on, troublemaker,” he whispered, and Dodger hopped down from the bed and followed him out the door.

He went into the kitchen and filled a bowl with water. Dodger lapped it up while Steve put his coat on and found Dodger’s leash in a basket by the front door.

“Where are you going?” 

Morgan gazed up at him from the doorway. Her hair was mussed. The stuffed shark he’d bought for her at the aquarium dangled from her fist. Had he thought she was beautiful the night before? She was more than beautiful now. She was perfect. 

“It’s pretty early,” he said, touching her hair. “What are you doing up?”

“Dodger left,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he said. “I’m just taking Dodger out.” he let his hand slip down to her plump little cheek and brushed it with his fingers. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Morgan shuffled her foot against the tile, tracing the regular line of its edge. “Can I come with you?”

A wave of happiness rolled over him, and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to take her with him, and walk around the block with her, holding her hand while Dodger walked ahead of them. Wanted to listen to her laugh and chatter. Wanted to stop and buy her a hot chocolate on the way back home, and bring a cup of coffee for Tony, and take it to him in bed, but...no. No. He shouldn’t do that. He knew he shouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. “Um. I’m not sure if Tony would like it if I took you outside so early in the morning,” he said. “Especially in your pjs.”

“I can get dressed,” she said, scrubbing her eyes with the hand holding the shark. They were still glassy with sleep. “I’m really fast.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he said, feeling his heart swell. Maybe he should be scared, he thought, that this little girl had gotten so attached to him so fast, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t scared at all. And if he was scared of anything, it was that. The fact that Morgan being attached to him _wasn’t_ scary. It was heavenly. “But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I go tuck you back in bed, and when you wake up again, me and Dodger will make you pancakes for breakfast? How does that sound?”

“Pancakes are yucky,” she said, and yawned hugely. 

He took her hand and led her back down the hall. “Mine are good. I make ‘em every morning. Hundreds of them.”

“Hundreds?” she asked, while he helped her into her bed and tucked the covers around her again. 

“Hundreds. Enough to fill your daddy’s whole bathtub,” he answered, and Morgan giggled sleepily, her eyes slipping closed. He brushed her hair back from her forehead. 

She opened those big brown eyes again, and held her arms up. “Kisses.”

Steve bent over her bed and pressed his lips to her soft cheek. “See you soon,” he said.

“Promise?”

His breath caught in his throat, but he closed his eyes and worked through it. Quickly. Efficiently. When he could breathe again, he smiled and kissed her cheek one more time. “See you soon.”

Morgan seemed to think that was good enough. She didn’t seem to worry that he didn’t have those words. That he couldn’t make a promise, no matter how much he might want to. She didn’t know that the fear was still there. The fear that once he made a promise, he might someday have to break it, and he couldn’t do that. Especially not to a Stark.

When Morgan was asleep, Steve went back to the kitchen and took a quick glance through the fridge and cabinets to make sure there was everything for pancakes. Tony didn’t have buttermilk, but it was okay. He had whole milk and there was a bowl of lemons on the counter. He could improvise. When he was satisfied, he clipped on Dodger’s leash and took him out for his morning walk. 

He stopped and bought a newspaper on the way back. There was a flower stand right next to the newsstand. He bought a small bouquet. He thought it was a little silly, but he did it. 

And he smiled the whole way home.

\---

He woke up before the alarm. That never happened. 

He could smell coffee, and _that_ was right, because the coffee pot had a timer, but he could smell other stuff too. Bacon? Yes. Definitely bacon. And something else, a toasty, nutty scent like butter melted in a pan, but _that_ couldn’t be right because that smelled like pancakes, and not only was he still in bed, but Morgan didn’t even _like_ pancakes. She thought they were yucky. Who could be making bacon and panc…

Oh.

“Steve?” he called from the bed, eyes still closed, and listened. Nobody answered, but a second later, he heard a little clicking sound that he couldn’t _quite_ place, and then the bed dipped, and a damp nose was pressed against cheek. 

His eyes flew open, and he muttered, _fuck_ under his breath when he saw a dog’s face two inches from his own. He might be having a dream. Tony thought that was entirely possible. He closed his eyes again. Or maybe that was part of the dream. Maybe he dream-opened them in the first place, and they had been closed all along. The fact that there was a _dog_ on his bed, when he had very clearly stated that no dogs should be on the bed just made the dream theory that much more plausible. 

He tried to ignore the nose so close to his face. He also tried to ignore that he could feel eyes on him, but finally he couldn’t stand it anymore, and cracked one of his own. “What. Are. You. Doing?” he asked.

Dodger cocked his head quizzically, and wagged his tail in big, sweeping motions.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Tony said. He kept his voice reasonable. Dodger seemed like a reasonable enough dog. Tony was sure if he explained the situation again--that no one of the four-legged variety was allowed on the furniture--that he would hop down and walk away. “I specifically said no dogs on the beds. Remember? You were there. You heard me.”

Dodger wagged his tail again. His tongue hung out of his mouth, grinning at Tony in a happy way that Tony might would have found cute--okay, fucking adorable--if he hadn’t been on the bed.

“Dodger,” he said seriously, and propped himself up on his elbow. “I’m sorry. You seem like a very decent dog. But-” Dodger perked his ears up, and Tony deliberately schooled his features into a stern countenance, “-you shed. That’s nothing against you. It’s not your fault. Dogs shed. All dogs shed. Tha-”

He stopped when he heard a giggle from the doorway.

Tony lay back down and put his arm over his eyes. Dodger took the opportunity to lie down and put his head on his paws. “Think this is funny, do you?” Tony asked.

“You’re always funny, Daddy.”

“Did I see coffee in your hands, my dear?”

She came forward slowly, holding the cup carefully in her hands. “Steve told me to bring it to you.”

Tony held out his hand. “He’s a prince,” he said, as she put the cup into it. He sat up and sipped. It was hot, black, sweet. Perfect. He groaned. “Never mind,” he said. “I meant he’s a _god_.” He took another long sip, then sat the cup on the bedside table. “And _you_ ,” he said, and grabbed Morgan around her middle and dragged her onto the bed beside him, “are a goddess.” He tickled her, making her giggle helplessly. “A sweet, sweet goddess.”

“Daddy!” she squealed, squirming around in his grip. Dodger stood back up, dancing around them, barking happily.

He tickled her a little more, then pulled her into his arms, lying with her like spoons, Morgan on the inside. He closed his eyes and cuddled her closer. “You like Steve, don’t you?” he asked, and she nodded immediately.

“He’s nice.”

Tony couldn’t help the relief that came over him. He’d known. It was more than obvious, but it was good to have the reassurance. “Yeah,” he agreed. “He _is_ nice.” He kissed her cheek. “I like him too. I like him a lot. _A lot-_ lot.” She was quiet, and he let her be quiet, let her think. Gave her time to ask questions if she wanted to. Finally, he said, “Is that okay with you? If I like Steve a lot?”

She shrugged. “Yes. Steve’s nice.”

“You sure?”

He could see her face, her little pink lips. They curved upward. “Yes, Daddy.”

He let out a breath. That relief, though...that felt good.

She turned to him, her face suddenly serious. “Do you like Dodger?” 

“Sure.”

“Because _Steve_ likes Dodger,” she said, emphasizing it heavily, as if in a warning, and he nodded, thinking how smart she really was. How clever. Behind them, he could feel old Dodger lying down again, the No-Dogs-On-The-Bed rule forgotten, like _he_ knew how clever Morgan was too.

“Yeah, he does,” Tony said. “Steve likes Dodger, you like Steve. _I_ like Steve. And Dodger,” he threw in before Morgan could ask again. “I kinda like you too,” he said, and kissed her again.

“I like you too, Daddy,” she said, and his heart felt like it might burst with his love for her. 

But before it did, Steve’s voice came from down the hallway. “Tony! Morgan! Breakfast!”

Morgan jumped up. “Pancakes!” she shouted, and Dodger leapt to his feet and chased her out the door.

Tony lay back and grabbed his cup of coffee. He drank it. It slid down his throat, hot and good, and he swallowed, feeling the warmth of it bloom in his stomach. He looked fine on the outside. He was a master of that. He could look fine even when his insides were lighting up like fireworks. And they were doing exactly that right now. Exploding with his love for his daughter, exhilaration at the thought that she liked Steve so much, euphoria--fucking _euphoria_ \--at the sound of Steve calling them for breakfast. That, almost more than anything. Just the sound of his voice, that meant he’d be down there. Steve. Steve Rogers. Standing in Tony’s kitchen like he belonged there, and Tony closed his eyes thinking about that, because good fucking _Christ_ , he belonged there. Tony had always known it. It was what he had always wanted. Always hoped for. And after all this time, Steve was there. 

Steve was _here_.

He finished his coffee, went into the bathroom and cleaned up a little, then went to the kitchen. He could hear their voices--his people’s voices--Morgan’s high and twittering, Steve’s a low, pleasant rumble, and then there they were. And Steve’s eyes lit up when he saw him. Tony didn’t want to make comparisons. He never wanted to do that. But nobody he’d ever shared a morning with--including Pepper--had ever looked at him like that.

 _God, I’m still so in love with him_ , he thought, and that relief he’d felt earlier washed over him again. _Good. Good._

“Hey,” Steve said, and his eyes were still bright. Even though he was pale, and they were still hollowed and smudged with tired shadows underneath, they were bright when they fell on Tony. “I was just about to come drag you out of bed.”

“If I’d known that, I would have stayed in there,” Tony said, and Morgan giggled from her stool. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, then patted Dodger as he stepped over him to get to Steve. He slipped his hand up Steve’s arm, touched his neck, touched his cheek, let one finger caress the skin under his eyes. “Still pale,” he said, frowning a little. “Do you ever sleep?”

Steve took a step closer, almost as if he couldn’t help it. Like he was being drawn in. “It was...better last night,” he said quietly, then touched Tony’s other hand with his own, timid in a way Tony never knew an ex-soldier could be. “You know?” Steve said. “Here? With...” He smiled through downcast lashes, and those fireworks went off again. Like D.C. on July 4th.

Tony used the hand on his cheek to pull him down to meet him. He kissed him high on one cheekbone. Very lightly. Very softly. But unhurried. Steve didn’t pull away. He just closed his eyes. “Well, we’ll just have to keep you here then, won’t we?”

Steve let out a slow, measured breath. Tony thought he nodded just the tiniest bit. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure. But it felt like it. “Do you want pancakes?” Steve asked, a bit uncertainly.

Tony ran his hand up through Steve’s hair. “Do you have to ask?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Morgan thought pancakes were yucky.”

Tony gave Steve’s hand a squeeze, then grabbed a plate from the couple still stacked on the counter. “But look at her now,” he said. “How many is that for you, peanut? Ten? Twenty?”

She smiled at Steve. “A hundred.”

“Still a few more to go before we fill that bathtub, huh?” he answered and winked at her.

Tony looked between them, shaking his head. “Private jokes? Rude.”

“We’ll let you in on it someday,” Steve assured him, sliding a pancake onto his plate. “And speaking of bathrooms. Remind me to get a toothbrush.”

Tony frowned at him as he picked up the syrup. “Um. You have one?”

“Not _here_.”

“Yeah, you do. I got you one. It’s in the medicine cabinet.” Tony took a bite, groaned obscenely, then took another. “What’s the matter with you, Rogers? Don’t you snoop through medicine cabinets?”

“No.”

“You should.”

Steve looked at him with a frown of his own. “You bought me a toothbrush? When?”

“Yesterday.”

“But. You didn’t know I was going to stay here last night,” he said, but Tony just shrugged, popping another bite into his mouth.

“Of course, I did.”

“But…?”

“But _what_?” Tony asked, and looked up at him. It felt like a shark’s look even to himself. Probably because it was. And did he care that every time he looked at Steve, it was with a hungry, predatory look? Not one single bit. Especially if it brought out that blush that he remembered so well--loved so well--from when they were kids. Just like it was doing right now.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Steve asked. 

Tony just cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t really think he needed to, and the answering smile Steve gave him told him he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for indulging me, LOL! Back to our regularly-scheduled plot next chapter. And I seriously think there's only two left now!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Mazzy Star song.


End file.
